


Warrior

by Socioskull



Category: Glee
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Comfort, Community: glee_angst_meme, Hurt, M/M, Rape, Rape Recovery, Romance, Sad in general but worth the read, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 21:27:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13644765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Socioskull/pseuds/Socioskull
Summary: This work is unfinished, not mine, and just saved here as a bookmarked





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Orginal work:
> 
> https://m.fanfiction.net/s/9764699/1/
> 
> ((Only posted here as bookmark))

_The first time he felt those hands on him, he was 5. They were big, rough, almost like his daddy's hands. He had wondered if he used the same hand lotion that his daddy did. Maybe that was what made him feel safe. He always felt safe when his daddy held him almost like those hands held him at that moment. They groped him, hands roaming around his tiny body, lingering in certain places. He didn't think much of it though, considering how young he was._

_That voice always told him that it was normal, that it was what every 5 year old went through. He told him that it was part of growing up._

_If you want to be a big boy, you have to do whatever I tell you to._

_He had believed him for so long._

_"You trust me don't you Kurtie?" he hated that nickname but he nodded because he had to obey. It was the only way he would become a big boy. He wanted to grow up faster and help his mommy with all the chores at home. He didn't want to be a baby anymore. His mommy still called him that._

_"You're such a good boy Kurtie," that voice whispered in his ear and he unbuttoned Kurt's stylish shirt. You're never too young for fashion, his mommy had said once._

_Then, all too quickly, he felt the wetness of lips attached to his neck; kissing, licking, biting. It hurt, he didn't think it would hurt that much. He cried out in pain, whimpering as those lips travelled down his neck to his chest and then to his stomach, peppering light kisses and occasionally scraping teeth across the pale skin. His hands were restrained to his body, those hands holding them down to prevent him from resisting. He was holding on too tight, like a death grip, it hurt. His sobs become louder as the pain became more unbearable for his 5 year old body to handle but he endured. He had to take it; he promised that it would make him a big boy if he got through this. He couldn't stop his sobs and whimpers from getting louder however, that was not in his control._

_Those lips managed to swallow his sobs and whimpers in a hard, lustful kiss almost sending Kurt stumbling back as he struggled to balance out both his weight and his weight._

_His eyes widened and a gasp escaped his throat as he felt those hands fumbling to unbuckle his pants and pull them down to his ankles. He was left vulnerable in his underwear and when was his shirt even taken off?_

_Those lips detached from his mouth, leaving it red and swollen from the intensity of the kiss. He could feel his hot breath against his ear as he whispered, "You're such a sight, Kurt. So pretty even at this age."_

_He felt his underwear being pulled down from his slim waist and those calculating eyes stared at what he called his "male part" as if analysing it. He looked up at Kurt's face again, his eyes growing darker. It scared Kurt._

_"You're gorgeous Kurt. You'll be beautiful when you grow up and become a big boy, I'm sure," Kurt couldn't help but beam at the thought of finally being a big boy and smiled down at the man._

_"Now," there was a glint in his eyes that 5 year old Kurt couldn't distinguish but 16 year old Kurt knew all too well, "let's have some fun, shall we?"_

_He let out a soft whimper as he felt warm hands covering his "male part", stroking it lazily when the sound of rubber on gravel could be heard pulling into the driveway of the house. Immediately, his clothes were thrown back at him and he was given orders to put them on as quickly as he could and he complied._

_After he was dressed completely, a scarf thrown around his neck by those hands, he was held back from jumping into his mother's arms and asking her about her day._

_"Now, if you tell your mommy about what happened today, she won't let you become a big boy. She'll stop me from helping you grow up. Do you understand?" Kurt nodded mutely, his eyes filled with determination and stubbornness as usual. He wouldn't tell his mommy or his daddy. He wanted to grow up and be a big boy. He needed to grow up._

_"I won't tell, Uncle Charlie," he promised, his voice firm and full of confidence._

_The man smiled at him with false sweetness, "Good boy."_

_He heard the door open and close softly, just like his mommy always does. With his permission, he bolts out of his room and down the stairs to greet his mother, who's waiting for him with open arms. He jumps into them eagerly as his mother coos at him about how much she missed him although it had only been 6 hours._

_She spots Uncle Charlie who had just entered the room after cleaning up the mess he had made upstairs, grinning as he sees Elizabeth._

_"Was he good?" she asked, resting Kurt on her right hip as she spoke to him._

_"The most obedient kid I know," he replied, and it wasn't even a lie, Kurt had been obedient, listening to his every command like a child should._

_Elizabeth beamed at her son now, gazing at him as though he held all the answers in the universe, as a mother would look at her son._

_"I'm proud of you baby," Kurt frowned at the word "baby". He didn't like that word. He wasn't a baby and once Uncle Charlie helped him grow up, his mother wouldn't have to call him baby any longer._

_Unknown to both of them, Charlie was watching their exchange and smirking devilishly to himself._

Xxx

The first time those lips kissed Kurt, he was 5; his first kiss.

The first time those hands touched him, he was 5.

The first time Kurt was sexually abused, he was 5 and that was when his life changed forever.


	2. Chapter 2

_Age 6_

_"Look Kurt, Uncle Charlie is here," those words always meant that his parents were leaving for work and wouldn't be back for a while._

_It meant that he would be alone in the house with Uncle Charlie for about 6 hours before his mommy came home again and Uncle Charlie would have to leave._

_It also meant that those hands would be touching him again. It meant that those lips would be on him again._

_Uncle Charlie is nice, Kurt decides. He always came bearing gifts and toys for the little 6 year old when he visited or came to babysit him. Besides, he had kept to his promise of helping Kurt become a big boy. He had told Kurt many times that he could practically see Kurt growing up and "maturing" although he didn't know what that word meant yet, it was enough to satisfy Kurt's doubts. Kurt had heard him mutter to himself about how his plan was working which Kurt couldn't quite understand, but his 6 year old mind assumed that he was talking about Kurt's progress._

_He had been at it for months, each time they were left at home alone, Uncle Charlie would waste no time in rushing Kurt to his room and taking his clothes off. For months they fell into a familiar routine of going straight up to Kurt's room once both his parents had left the house. Uncle Charlie would ask him to wait a couple minutes to make sure that neither one of his parents came back home unexpectedly and caught them. He would then ask Kurt to take off his clothes or he would do it for him just for the fun of it._

_Those hands and those lips would waste no time in attaching themselves to Kurt's body and mouth. He often whined and complained about how all his mother's hard work to style his hair would go to waste because Uncle Charlie would forcefully run his hands through them. He pulled at them too and Kurt would always cry out because it hurt so much but again the little 6 year old would try to keep calm because it's all for your own good, Uncle Charlie had said._

_If you want to be a big boy, you have to do whatever I tell you to, remember?_

_Oh, he remembered. He reminded himself every day._

It had been eleven years since the first time his Uncle Charlie had touched him. He was sixteen now, a sophomore in High School. He could honestly say his life was hell.

He was bullied in school constantly because of his sexuality.

He had lost his mother when he was eight in a car accident.

His father was trying but Kurt knew he was struggling to come to terms with having a gay son. Kurt didn't blame him.

On top of all of that, Uncle Charlie came by constantly to visit them, claiming he never saw his favourite nephew enough.

He learnt when he was ten that what Uncle Charlie was doing wasn't right but he didn't have the power to stop him. He was too weak, too small to do anything and over the years, as he grew up, Uncle Charlie managed to take away all his energy to fight back and his innocence at the same time.

Between being harassed in school and being tortured, abused at home, he had nowhere to run. He hated that he was the victim.

Why was he always the victim?

He's never told anyone about his time as a child, has never dared to. He hated his childhood. He hated that he had let Uncle Charlie take it away from him.

None of his friends needed to know, they were his safe haven. He didn't want, no, he couldn't mix his two worlds together. They just didn't match.

So there he was, on his bed; naked, wet and disgusting. Uncle Charlie had just left, knowing his father would be home in an hour. He had left Kurt on his bed, crying and in pain, his entire body sore and aching.

He had arrived half an hour earlier, without warning, dragged Kurt to his room, threw him on the bed and had his way. He complained about Kurt being a tease and how he hadn't been pleased enough and the way his eyes darkened just made Kurt sick.

He tried moving from his position on the bed to go to the bathroom but whimpered in pain as he fell to the hard tiled floor of his bedroom. He forced himself to crawl over to the bathroom door and pushed it open with as much energy as he had left in his body after the torture he just endured.

He crawled further into the bathroom towards the toilet; his hands clenched the cold porcelain of the toilet seat as he threw up the contents of his non-existent lunch. He puked until his stomach was full of nothing but air and acid; even then he continued to throw up. He was used to this, though.

He continued kneeling on the bathroom floor until he felt like he could move again. He stood up slowly and made his way to the bathtub, filling it to the brim with hot water before entering, hissing as his butt hit the bottom of the tub.

He grabbed his loofa and scrubbed himself as hard as he could until his skin was an angry red. Hot tears streamed down his face as he tried hard not to scream in agony at the unfairness that was his life. He continued scrubbing and occasionally let out a few sobs as he went through what he liked to call his 'Post-Rape Breakdown'.

After a while, he let the loofa slip out of his hand in defeat and banged his head against the concrete wall behind him, not even caring how hard he hit or how much it would hurt. He just wanted to get rid of the feeling of him. Of him in his body, breaking him from the inside.

He desperately reached for a box on his soap shelf and opened it with shaking hands. Inside it was several small bottles of his facial cream but he wasn't looking for that. He dug deeper until he could feel the smooth metal of his razor at the tip of his fingers. He knew his father wouldn't look there. He wouldn't have a reason to. He took the sharp razor blade in his fingers and stared at it longingly. He kissed the sharp end of the blade and brought it to his forearm, already scarred with dozens of other cuts, aligned neatly, each cut parallel to the next.

Unlike his life that was messy and out of control, he needed his cuts to be neat. It was the only thing he could control. His cuts represented how he wanted his life to be.

He brought the sharp end of the blade to his skin, where he left off his previous cut from last night, and pierced his flawless porcelain skin. He closed his eyes, both in pain and pleasure at the same time. When he opened them again, there was red liquid flowing from the cut, down his arm and into the tub, the red immediately spreading and swirling with the water.

He watched in amazement as the blood continued to flow, slowly but steadily and brought the razor to make another cut in his skin. And in that moment, he forgot about the pain of the outside world and the pain he just endured in the comfort of his own house, his own room, his own bed. He could just focus on the sting in his arm and his head. He felt numb to the world.

He made a final cut before he decided it was time to go. His father would be back soon and he wouldn't be happy to see the condition his room was in, or his son in a bathtub of his own blood with his arm bleeding and a razor blade in his hand. That wasn't something his father should have to see because it isn't his fault his son is fucked up. Not at all.

He grabbed a towel at the side of the tub and dabbed at the cuts. It didn't hurt anymore. Not much anyway. He got out of the tub and drained the water, watching as the red swirled down and disappeared down the drain.

He washed his razor blade carefully before stashing it back in the box. He wanted pain, not an infection.

He got dressed quickly, in a long-sleeve shirt with a cardigan over it and loose pants. He was not in any condition to wear skin-tight jeans. He would heal up by the next day though, he knew it. He was too used to this. He hated that.

He changed his sheets to brand new ones, he had bought a lot of extras when he was fourteen just so he didn't have to reuse them when Uncle Charlie came over. He had done that many times before and all it did was make him hate himself more.

Not long after he was done cleaning up, he heard the front door open and close.

"Kiddo, I'm home! You there buddy?"

"Yeah, dad! I'll be down in a second."

He looked at his mirror and adjusted his clothes before making his way downstairs. There was no excuse for looking unkempt and he wouldn't have that.

"Your dinner is in the kitchen, dad." He was lucky he remembered to prepare his dad's dinner beforehand. Way beforehand. Like he said, he was used to this.

"You not eating bud?" There it was. The question he hated to answer.

"I ate just before you came back, actually. I would've waited for you but I didn't know how long you'd be."He hated lying to his dad but he didn't have a choice. It was so easy it scared him sometimes. He used to be bad at lying to his dad as a kid. His dad would always know when he was lying.

He didn't anymore. Like they said, practice makes perfect.

And he had a hell lot of time to practice. He hated that too. He hated himself more.

Xxx

Kurt was 6 when he first saw someone else's "male part".

Kurt was 6 when he felt those lips on his "male part"; his first blowjob.

Kurt was 6 when he officially lost his innocence.


	3. Chapter 3

_Age 7_

_"Hi, do you want to play with me?" Kurt looked up from the sandbox to find a young boy who looked the same age, if not only slightly younger than him. His hair made Kurt smile because it was really curly and in Kurt's opinion, really crazy._

_"Are you crazy?" he blurted out._

_"What?" crazy boy tilted his head to one side, both in confusion and hurt._

_"Your hair, it looks really crazy. So does that mean you're crazy?" Kurt explained further._

_Crazy boy touched his hair self-consciously as if trying to tame it but to no avail. He dropped his hands to his side in defeat and pouted, his facial expression similar to that of a puppy and that made Kurt giggle. Crazy boy perked up slightly at the sound. Maybe the little boy in the sandbox wouldn't mind playing with someone with crazy hair._

_"Can I still play with you even if I have crazy hair?"He looked at Kurt hopefully._

_Kurt seemed to ponder over it for a while before he nodded his head in acceptance._

_Crazy boy was smiling so widely, Kurt thought it must hurt, "I'm Blaine and I'm six."_

_"I'm Kurt and I'm seven," Kurt replied somewhat shyly in comparison. Blaine was the only boy who wanted to play with him. All the other boys would call say they couldn't play with him because he was too girly. He had cried non-stop after he heard them say that. His mommy made it better though, she told Kurt that the other boys didn't want to play with him because he was too "mature" for them._

_Kurt had asked his mommy what the word "mature" meant and she had told him that it was another word for someone who was a big boy. Kurt didn't stop smiling that entire day and when Uncle Charlie had came by, Kurt was extra obedient. Uncle Charlie hadn't been lying after all, he was really helping Kurt become a big boy. He still wished he had someone to play with, though. "I'll play with you Kurtie," Uncle Charlie had whispered in his ear when he was touching Kurt again and there was this glint in his eyes that Kurt couldn't quite place but didn't think much of it. He also didn't see when Uncle Charlie had his signature smirk on._

_Kurt was brought out of his thoughts when a small shovel was thrust in his hands, he looked up in confusion to find the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. Uncle Charlie had brown eyes but it didn't look the same. He didn't know what colour it was but it was so pretty._

_"C'mon Kurt, let's start digging."_

_Blaine must be a big boy too if he was playing with Kurt. Maybe someone else was helping him "mature" like Uncle Charlie was helping him. Kurt smiled at the thought and started digging with Blaine, all thoughts of Uncle Charlie vanished for a moment as he had fun with his newfound friend._

_They had been playing for a while when Blaine suddenly stood up and walked to Kurt's side of the sandbox and hugged him tightly. Blaine, sensing Kurt's confusion whispered in his ear, "You're my first ever friend, Kurt." Kurt hugged him back just as tightly. When they pulled away from each other, Blaine placed a soft but chaste peck on the boy's cheek which made him blush an adorable pink._

_Uncle Charlie had been watching the two boys the entire time. He had been babysitting when Kurt requested for them to go to the playground instead of doing what they usually did and since Kurt was a good boy, Uncle Charlie thought it would do no harm in bringing his nephew there. How wrong he was._

_He went to where the boys were playing and literally dragged Kurt out of the sandbox and told him to say goodbye to his friend. After much protest, he was finally pulled away and carried by his Uncle Charlie back home where he all but attacked Kurt with his hands and lips, attaching themselves to his body again. There was something wrong, though, Uncle Charlie was rougher on Kurt than he usually was and it hurt more than it usually did and unlike other times, Kurt just wanted him to stop. He couldn't and he didn't understand. One word he did understand coming from Uncle Charlie's mouth was "Mine"._

_He never saw Blaine again._

No matter how much he hated or couldn't stand some of the members of Glee club, they were still his only friends in school. They were his safe haven from all the crap he had to face in school and all the pain he had to face at home. He lived for the days he would end up fighting with Rachel for a solo or simply for how horrendously she dressed. Most of the members were outcasts with problems and their own demons to face. They made Kurt feel accepted, like maybe he wasn't the only screwed up kid in the school. But he knew he was. He was so fucked up he felt that he didn't even belong in New Directions.

He was only pretending, pretending to be normal, pretending to fit in, pretending to be something he wasn't, pretending he wasn't broken.

They made him feel safe for once, something he used to be able to feel at home. Not anymore. His friends were his safety net now.

He couldn't tell them. They couldn't know. They wouldn't want him if they knew. Who would want to help someone so pathetic, so weak, so used? How could they love him when he couldn't love himself? He just wished they'd just notice.

Why couldn't they notice?

The bullying wasn't getting any better. If anything, it was getting even worse. He would be locker checked before every period and slushied at least once a day. It didn't help that his bruises from last night were still aching and every time he hit a locker, the pain only increased. Fuck, Uncle Charlie wouldn't like the bruises on his back.

The only upside to the bullying was that they were letting up on the dumpster tosses because Puckerman was no longer leading the pack of Neanderthals anymore. At least he wouldn't smell like shit in the morning. Just the thought of it made Kurt want to barf up the piece of bread he had for breakfast.

Mercedes almost caught on to his self harming. He was afraid that she would put two and two together soon. But it was fairly unlikely seeing as Kurt was a master at lying.

There was once when he had cut his wrist early in the morning before school because his arms itched and he simply couldn't help it. The blood had stained the sleeve of his shirt and he hadn't noticed until Mercedes pointed it out.

"Kurt, is that blood?!" Mercedes had all but hissed in his ear.

"What?" He panicked for a moment when he saw the red stain on his sleeve. Man he was fucked.

He dabbed at the stain and frowned. He would put on a show for her if he had to.

"No," he said with finality, "It's ketchup. I ate a hamburger this morning 'cause my dad insisted I made him something 'meaty'."

He shook his head in amusement as if recalling a memory fondly. He was too good at this.

Mercedes seemed convinced by his explanation and dropped it as quickly as she picked up the next topic of conversation.

He loved Mercedes, I mean she was his best friend, but she could be naive sometimes.

Uncle Charlie was over almost every day. It made it so hard to go about his day and live his life when all he could think about was 'Uncle Charlie will be there when I get home.'

It really messed with his focus in school knowing that when he went home, his Uncle would be waiting to torture him. At times, he had to skip Glee when his Uncle texted him to come home right after school. His friends noticed but never asked. That frustrated him. Why were they so dense?

Please just notice for once.

He never held sleepovers at his house, never knowing when Uncle Charlie might just show up unannounced. Or maybe the girls would find his self-harm kit. There were just too many risks. He couldn't. He just couldn't.

It wasn't unusual for Kurt to cancel on sleepovers last minute after Uncle Charlie had been extra rough and his body was in so much pain, it felt like it was on fire and not even in a good way.

The fifth time he called to cancel on his girls, Mercedes had accused him of not being a good friend. She was right. He spent the night with his razor in hand and blood on his bed. He had screwed up. It was all his fault.

He ate less and less and puked more and more. He was losing a lot of weight, and a lot of blood but he couldn't be bothered to care about his health. He wore a lot of layers so his dad wouldn't notice and his friends wouldn't ask questions. Uncle Charlie could care less about him losing weight, probably didn't even notice his ribs starting to protrude. As long as his ass was firm, round and perky and his dick didn't shrink, he was fine.

The thought of sleeping and never waking up appealed to Kurt more than once. In fact, he thought about it every day. Every day after every locker check, after every slushy, after being called a fag, after being tormented, and every time after being raped. He's done more than think about it, he had attempted to go through with it because what the fuck did he have to live for?

Then when he was ready to take the last step, he would always think of what he did have to live for no matter how messed up his life was. He thought of his dad, he thought of his music, his singing, his friends and he wouldn't be able to do it. Then he would go through the same thing the next day.

Sometimes he was just too tired to care. He didn't have the energy to fight back. He didn't want to.

Sometimes he just didn't go through with killing himself because it would be the easy way out. He deserved the pain, he deserved the torture. He didn't deserve happiness. This was his life and he was used to it. He was used to hating himself. He was used to hurting himself. He was used to letting others hurt him. He was used to letting Uncle Charlie control his life. He was used to living in fear.

He was on his bed again. This time he wasn't alone. Uncle Charlie was there with him. He was naked, on top of Kurt and he looked blissed out, something Kurt was nowhere close to. He shut his eyes tight and wished upon anything not to be where he was right now. He blocked out all the moans and noises of pleasure his Uncle was making and blocked out all his own whimpers and whines of pain.

Uncle Charlie was whispering in his ear again, "You're nothing without me Kurtie, no one will want you but me."

Kurt just continued to whimper and allowed silent tears to fall from his eyes. He was right. He was used, worthless and unwanted.

He imagined a happy place. He imagined New York, imagined going there, living there, if only he could survive his life now. He feared he would never be able to escape from Uncle Charlie. Wherever he went, Uncle Charlie would just be there behind him. He was always so scared to turn around.

He longed for when Uncle Charlie would just leave and he would be alone with his blades and his 'Post-Rape Breakdown' and hurt himself as much as he wanted because he was worthless.

He was just worthless.

Xxx

Kurt was 7 when he first touched someone else's "male part"; his first time giving a handjob.

Kurt was 7 when he learnt how possessive his Uncle Charlie was.

Kurt was 7 when he made his first friend; Blaine.

And he was 7 when he lost his first friend.


	4. Chapter 4

_Age 8_

_It was Kurt's eighth birthday and his parents weren't home. His father was in the garage and his mother was out shopping. It was pouring outside. Uncle Charlie was home babysitting him again and he promised Kurt a birthday present he would never forget._

_That was how he found himself naked on Uncle Charlie and a "male part" in his mouth. He didn't know what he was doing or if he was doing it right because all he could focus on was the burning pain he felt in his throat. There were tears in his eyes as Uncle Charlie guided him up and down. His uncle didn't pay any attention to the pain Kurt was in, too focused on his own pleasure to even care._

_It was more of a birthday present for him rather than Kurt._

_The more Uncle Charlie pushed himself inside, the more Kurt's throat burned but he didn't say anything. He simply continued the way Uncle Charlie wanted him to._

_"You're such a good boy, Kurtie. Look at you, not even gagging on me. Such a pretty boy when you suck," he had barely heard his Uncle over the pain he was feeling but beamed nonetheless._

_What he hadn't expected was for his bedroom door to be pushed open to find the one person they had never expected._

_"Mommy."_

Kurt never talked about his mother, not much anyway and he didn't like to. He didn't like unwanted attention, he hated being looked at with pitying, calculating eyes and he most certainly didn't like anyone meddling in his business. He remembered his mother's funeral and how people kept giving him one of those looks and he hated it. He hated that his mother was dead. He hated that it was his fault.

He never talked about his mother because he didn't want those looks directed at him again. It wasn't worth the trouble.

A lot of his friends thought that his mother had died of cancer when he was 8. The only truth in that statement was that Kurt was 8 when his mother had died. It wasn't cancer that killed his mother but he was fine with them believing that story. It was less troublesome to explain. He had caused his mother's death. No one knew. No one needed to know.

What he found thoroughly amusing was that he had these solid walls built up around him and yet no one noticed it was there because they never thought for a second that someone so confident, so sure of himself could be so guarded. He supposed they underestimated him acting skills. The walls were right there, his constant companion. If no one knew it was there, no one would try to break it and that was perfectly fine for Kurt. He was better alone anyway.

Alone protects me, he thought constantly.

He would just keep himself locked safely inside those four walls he had built for himself, fully equipped with his iPod, his endless collection of DVDs, his razors and whole lot of diaries filled with hate.

Hate for the world, hate for the people in it, hate for Uncle Charlie, but most of all hate for himself.

It was the kind of hate that he could suppress in the outside world but let out his frustrations here in the comfort of his four walls that wouldn't crumble or crack.

His friends were clueless and his teacher was even more so.

What they didn't know couldn't hurt them. In this case however, what they didn't know couldn't hurt Kurt.

He hated birthdays, especially his own. He didn't see a point in celebrating it when all it did was bring back painful memories that Kurt wished he could bury forever. His father had tried over the years to get Kurt to celebrate his birthday. He had ordered cakes, planned birthday parties, bought him presents but Kurt pushed them all away. After a while, his father simply left him alone on his birthday, knowing Kurt needed the time to himself.

His friends were no help. How do you forget one of the worst days of your life when your friends keep reminding you of the day you so desperately want to hide away?

Every year on his birthday, he would visit his mother's grave, sit down on in front of her and simply cry, which was exactly what he was doing now.

He traced his mother's name with his fingers and let the tears fall as he remembered the anniversary of his mother's death.

"I'm sorry mommy, I'm so sorry I killed you. I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry...

"It was my fault. It was all my fault. Mommy, please come back, I need you."

He hated himself every day for what he did to his mother.

He spent over an hour in front of his mother's grave, crying his eyes out, his head in his hands and scream out muffled, "It's not fair. It's not fair." into the palm of his hands.

He got up after a while and walked to his car, hitting his head on the steering wheel the moment he stepped inside.

He drove home silently as he thought of all the ways he could mutilate himself on the day he hated himself the most. His father would be working late at the garage, knowing his son needed time to himself. What he didn't know was how Kurt was going to spend it.

He rushed up to his room the moment he entered the house, not even caring if he closed the front door properly. He headed for his bathroom, took off all of his clothes and reached desperately for his facial box. He had never been more relieved to see his razor. He sat on the floor, his back leaning against the wall as he brought the razor blade to his arm and pierced his flawless alabaster skin.

He had been cutting for a while, enough times for it to hurt. All up his arms and some down his legs when he found he didn't have enough space. He went over his old scars that were starting to fade, reopening the wounds so they wouldn't close all together.

There was so much blood on his arms and legs, on his body and dripping on the floor. He felt so much pain yet relieved at the same time. He felt like he could black out but made sure to keep himself awake. He couldn't let his father find him like that. He would have to explain why and he just couldn't do that to his father.

He watched for what felt like an hour more as his arms and legs continued to bleed, his cuts still aligned neatly no matter how messy it looked. He got up from his position on the floor and ran the water from the tap over his cuts, hissing in pain as they stung, just like a paper cut, in his opinion. He dabbed the remaining blood left on his legs with a moist towel, making sure the cuts stopped bleeding before he turned his attention back to the floor.

He quickly rinsed the towel and wiped the blood from the floor before it dried up to leave a permanent mark that showed proof that it had been there, which he couldn't allow.

He was still naked when he entered his bedroom to look for new clothes. He hadn't heard the front door opening and closing. He hadn't heard the footsteps coming up the stairs and he hadn't noticed his bedroom door being pushed open to reveal his Uncle Charlie with a boner in his pants.

He hadn't noticed until his Uncle Charlie had practically attacked him and pushed him onto the bed. His pushed his weight on top of Kurt, almost suffocating him as he leaned down further and whispered in his ear.

"Happy birthday, Kurtie. It's time for your birthday present."

Kurt shuddered in fear as he tried to recoil into himself but was stopped when Uncle Charlie pulled him up with him, grabbed his hair roughly and pushed him to the ground. He kept a hand in Kurt's hair as he instructed the boy to undo his pants and 'get to work'.

He had given Kurt the same 'birthday present' every year, something Kurt didn't look forward to. He had learnt over the years that he didn't have a gag reflex which pleased Uncle Charlie even more as he pushed more of himself down Kurt's throat.

Kurt hated his birthday so much.

Maybe he deserved all this. Maybe it was pay back for his mother. Maybe his mother wanted him to be in this much pain. He wouldn't blame her if she did.

Xxx

Kurt was 8 years old when he gave his first blowjob.

Kurt was 8 years old when he lost his mother.

Kurt was 8 years old when he started hating his birthday.

And Kurt was 8 years old when he realized he was afraid of thunder.


	5. Chapter 5

_Age 9_

_It had been almost a year since Kurt's mother had passed._

_Uncle Charlie didn't come by so often anymore because his father was home almost every day. Kurt felt guilty for taking his father away from work but at the same time, he knew they both needed this time together._

_Kurt stared intently at the piano that stood in the far corner of the room, its keys collecting dust from underuse._

_It didn't feel right to play the piano without his mother around. She was the main reason he played in the first place. She had taught him everything he knew. He didn't play for himself or his father; he played for her, the woman that was now gone from his life forever._

_Could he wait that long? Could he wait until forever before he could play the piano again? Did he have to wait that long?_

_His father had said that the grieving process was long. But how long? How long did he have to wait before he wouldn't feel the sharp pain in his chest whenever he went near the piano? It was a part of her, a part of her she left for him when she died. A part of her that would haunt him forever._

_It just wasn't fair. There were so many bad people in the world. Why did it have to be her?_

_How long did he have to wait until he stopped hurting inside? Like there was a gaping hole in his heart, a hole that once belonged to his mother._

_No_

_It still belonged to his mother. She was alive inside of him. He was part of her too. She gave birth to him. Was that why the pain was so unbearable? Was that why he felt dead inside? Was that why he felt like ripping his heart out of his chest?_

_He turned his attention back to the piano and stared at it longingly. His mother would want him to continue playing wouldn't she? She would tell him not to stop, right? He wasn't sure of anything anymore._

_He didn't want to stop playing the piano. He loved the feeling he got when he played, like he was in another world, his own world where no one could touch him, none of the mean kids in his school._

_He got up slowly from his position on the couch and walked towards the piano. He got nervous with each passing step until he was in front of the beautiful instrument. He stroked the keys lightly, gathering dust with his fingers which he wiped off in disgust. He wouldn't wipe it on his clothes, though; his mother wouldn't want one of his designer jeans dirty. She wouldn't have approved._

_And he didn't want to disappoint her. Not anymore. He's done that enough._

_He took a piece of tissue and wiped the keys lightly. Once it was mostly clear of dust, he threw away the piece of tissue in disgust and ran back to the piano. He touched them carefully, one by one, as if afraid that if he pushed too hard, it would break._

_He pulled out the chair and took a seat, contemplating what he was going to play. It was his first performance since his mother died so it needed to be perfect. The song he chose was important because it was dedicated to her. After a moment to decide, he ran his fingers over the right keys, placed them in position and played his mother's favourite song._

_His mother had said he was a piano protégé when he was younger, because he took to the piano so well, it amazed her how much he could learn in such a short period of time, and at such a young age as well. He fell in love with the piano instantly. It was his constant companion. He would always play for his mother. Even now, he was playing for his mother._

_Burt came out of his room when he heard music downstairs. He was worried because Kurt had stayed far away from music the past year, claiming that it reminded him too much of his mother. So of course he was surprised to find his nine year old son on the piano bench, playing a song he knew all too well. This was Elizabeth's favourite song. The first song he had ever heard her play. It was his favourite song too. She just didn't know it._

_Kurt was his mother's son, through and through. He was so much like her, it hurt to even look at him sometimes. But Kurt was his pride and joy, their pride and joy. And Burt loved him no matter what. His little boy had been through so much. Too much for any nine year old. No one should have to lose their mother at such a young age. This was his son, this was his boy. His boy who was a splitting image of his mother, beautiful inside and out._

_Before he could stop himself, a tear fell down his cheeks and more followed eagerly after. He stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at his Kurt as his talented fingers moved gracefully from key to key and he was drowned in how beautiful it sounded. He had missed hearing it so much._

_And as the song came to a close, his tears began to subside and it was then that Kurt heard a sniffle from above him, looked up and said to his father,_

_"Daddy, can I change my middle name to Elizabeth?"_

_Kurt Elizabeth Hummel._

He hadn't changed it legally, neither was he planning to. He didn't feel the need to officially change his middle name to 'Elizabeth'. As long as the people around him knew, that was fine. His father had agreed to start calling him 'Kurt Elizabeth Hummel' when he was nine. It took a long time because he would always forget but after a while, he got used to it, made it a habit even.

None of his friends knew his real middle name. Or actually, well, names. He never told any of them, not even Mercedes. He suspected that there were about three people in Glee club who knew he changed his middle name and among them were Artie, Santana and Mike. They were the smartest in the club after all. Even Mr Shue was clueless. Either that or he couldn't care less. Kurt couldn't tell which it was and he honestly didn't care.

The name Kurt was given at birth was Kurt Elias Lysander Hummel. His parents couldn't decide between the two and double middle names weren't uncommon at the time so they thought "Why the fuck not."

Elizabeth wasn't too far off from Elias so it wasn't too far of a stretch. He got teased in school whenever he introduced himself with Elizabeth as his middle name. To this day, he was still teased about how "he was given a fairy name when he was born because his parents knew their son would turn into a fag." They were all such idiots. What more did he expect from the ignorant apes in his school? He could count with one hand the number of idiots on the football team who had an IQ above 50. It wasn't too impressive.

Anyway, he could care less about what those dumbasses thought. This was one of the only ways he knew how to honour his mother. One of the only ways he knew how to remember her, to have a part of her with him everywhere he went. What better way than having her name in memory.

He hoped that wherever she was, she was proud of him but he doubted it. Who would be proud of having him as a son? But one could hope and he had enough hope in the piano he had at home.

His piano was his best friend, his first love, his first everything. That may have sounded creepy but it was true, not the physical aspect of course, having sex with a piano was just wrong. He has kissed the piano before, though. He felt such a strong connection to the piano, like if he ever let it go, it would break him.

No one in Glee knew he could even play the piano. He never told them. He didn't want to. His piano was the only thing he could have to himself and he wasn't about to let that go. He didn't care if his talent wouldn't be discovered; he just wanted to keep it hidden.

So there he was, playing one of his favourite pieces he found over the years, something that he felt truly expressed him in a way. It was a classic, of course. He lived for classics. He had become a professional at playing the piano, easily letting the music flow through him without any sheet music. He played by ear, or he would simply memorize the notes in a certain song and remember it for life. It came easily to him. He loved it so much.

It was probably the only thing in his life he treasure, the only thing he loved other than his father. His piano gave him hope that maybe he could love himself as much as he loved his piano. Just maybe.

Music was truly beautiful. It was his escape from everything, everything that hurt and yet it hurt just as much as his razors would. In a pleasant kind of way. He didn't feel numb like he did when he cut or self-harmed, he felt as if all his emotions were overflowing and spilling out. He was the most vulnerable when he played and that hurt sometimes. The memory of his mother hurt just as much.

He didn't mind. He loved the music. And as his song came to an end, another one slithered its way into his mind, something that was a little different, something he felt he could relate to. Maybe he could sing this song in Glee tomorrow.

He ran his fingers along the keys and set them in their position before he started playing, his voice as clear as day as it shook with nerves but he carried on. He needed to get it out of his system. He poured his heart out into the song.

The night is yours alone  
When you're sure you've had enough of this life, well hang on  
Don't let yourself go  
Everybody cries and everybody hurts sometimes

Sometimes everything is wrong  
Now it's time to sing along  
When your day is night alone (hold on, hold on)  
If you feel like letting go (hold on)  
When you think you've had too much of this life, well hang on

Everybody hurts  
Take comfort in your friends  
Everybody hurts  
Don't throw your hand Oh, no  
Don't throw your hand  
If you feel like you're alone, no, no, no, you are not alone

If you're on your own in this life  
The days and nights are long  
When you think you've had too much of this life to hang on

Well, everybody hurts sometimes  
Everybody cries  
And everybody hurts sometimes  
And everybody hurts sometimes  
So, hold on, hold on  
Hold on, hold on  
Hold on, hold on

Everybody hurts  
You are not alone

He let the tears fall down his cheeks and onto the keys. If only he wasn't alone. But he was, he was all alone but he had his music. His music would never leave him.

Xxx

Kurt was 9 years old when he truly fell in love with music.

Kurt was 9 years old when he became Kurt Elizabeth Hummel.

Kurt was 9 years old when the piano became his first love, his escape from everything else.


	6. Chapter 6

_Age 10_

_Kurt hadn't even expected it to happen. He hadn't been ready for it._

_He had just come home from school when Uncle Charlie came out of nowhere and pushed him to his bedroom._

_Kurt was a smart kid. He may have only been ten but he was a smart kid, smarter than his teachers gave him credit for. So of course, when he saw the dark and dangerous look in his Uncle's eyes, he got scared and tried to run away. Run away from the danger that was so obviously there._

_Uncle Charlie had started to get more violent since the death of his mother. He got rougher, angrier. Kurt had no idea why but he knew this Uncle Charlie scared him. He was different from the nice man Kurt knew as a child, the one that came bearing gifts and promises of making Kurt a big boy. All he wanted to do now was get away from him. But Uncle Charlie was bigger and stronger. Kurt stood no chance._

_Uncle Charlie came nearer and nearer as Kurt backed up against the bed, his eyes overflowing with fear. Uncle Charlie's hands reach out to grab the ten year old and bring him close enough to whisper in his ear._

_"Let's complete the process Kurtie, let's make you a big boy."_

Kurt woke up screaming in his bed, beads of sweat trickled down his forehead as he tried to catch his breath. His eccentric blue eyes were wide in fear, his fingers clenching his sheets, his knuckles almost white. He pushed himself off his bed and rushed to the bathroom, barged in and kneeled in front of the toilet seat as he puked out whatever scraps he had for dinner the previous night. His stomach was officially empty by the time he was done and he couldn't bring himself to move from his position on the cold hard floor.

He hadn't had that dream for months. He had thought he was home free but apparently he was wrong. That nightmare had haunted him since he was 10. Every night he would wake up with a start, screaming and panting. His father had rushed into the room multiple times, almost tripping on himself. He assumed that it was a nightmare related to his mother's death. And Kurt let him, let him assume, let him comfort him for all the wrong reasons. Kurt didn't care at the time, all he wanted was to feel safe in his father's arms.

Kurt was lucky his bedroom was soundproof. It was one of the reasons he had requested his bedroom be relocated to the basement. He didn't know what he would have done if his overprotective father had to come down to see his mess of a son in Kurt's condition. His father didn't need to see him like this, he's seen enough already. He couldn't put his father through that again. He didn't know how long he could lie to his father anymore and this was pushing it. He was too vulnerable after his nightmares, crying and puking. He was afraid he was going to blurt something out in the presence of his father. He was actually surprised he hadn't already done that.

Of course there was another reason he wanted the basement. He shuddered just at the thought of it. He could say he never wanted to relive the experience he had when he was ten but then he was lying because he did. Almost every day. It wasn't like he had a choice, really. It wasn't like Uncle Charlie gave him one.

Uncle Charlie was his father's younger brother. Charles Xavier Hummel was his full name, a name Kurt would spit out in disgust. He wished he wasn't related to this bastard of a man but they shared part of the same DNA. Kurt may have been his mother's son but he was his father's boy too. He didn't know how or rather why his father was related to his Uncle but they were and he couldn't do anything about it. They had been close as children so Kurt had no idea how his Uncle ended up the way he did. Sometimes he blamed himself. Uncle Charlie did too sometimes. Maybe, just maybe if he didn't exist, his Uncle wouldn't have to do this. Maybe this was all his fault after all. What if Kurt made his Uncle the way he was? Kurt felt like throwing up again at the thought.

He should hate Uncle Charlie. He should despise him, and he did. But he hated himself so much more for so many different reasons, some that didn't have anything to do with him. But that was the way things were. That was how Kurt's depression was. He would blame himself for something out of his control and hate himself for no apparent reason and Kurt even hated himself for doing it. Sometimes he didn't know if it was the depression talking or his screwed up mind and he didn't care either way.

He had considered therapy maybe, something to help him deal with his problems. But that would mean his dad would want to know why. He could always go in secret. He had enough money to get by. But would spending all his money on therapy that, for all he knew, could fail, be worth it? He would always get more money. But how long? These were all the excuses he could come up with, the pathetic excuses he could think of when there was only one reason he didn't want to see a therapist.

It was mean he would have to tell someone what was going on in the fucked up life he lived in. He would have to admit to both himself and the therapist that he was being sexually abused and he wasn't ready for that.

He wasn't ready. He wouldn't do it. He couldn't do it.

His moods changed like a girl on her period without being too overdramatic of course. He could be sad one minute and angry the next. He had his moments of happiness, especially among the Glee Clubbers but his mind would supply that he didn't deserve to be happy and he'd be depressed again. It was a constant cycle and battle of emotions but his happiness would always end up in the gutter and his depression would prevail.

He didn't like feeling worthless, he didn't like feeling pathetic and he definitely didn't like hating himself any more than a normal person would. He didn't like hurting himself on a constant feeling but he felt like he had no choice, like he wasn't in control of his body. Depression wasn't a choice. No one had depression because they wanted attention. Kurt wanted nothing more than to turn invisible or disappear all together. He hated attention on anything other than his voice or his risky sense of style. He wanted them to represent him and not the scars on his arms or the scars in his heart.

He simply didn't want to be himself. But he couldn't even if he tried because he didn't know who he was.

Kurt got up from his position on the floor, his ass already hurting from sitting on the floor for too long. It almost felt like when Uncle Charlie was around but it was less painful.

He limped back to his bed and stared at the clock on his dresser.

4:56am

He didn't have much longer to sleep before he had to wake up again for school. He didn't see the point in going back to sleep. He didn't want to risk having the same nightmare again. It would be too much to handle before school. So he stayed up. He stayed up and stared blankly at the blue coloured wall he was facing, thinking about nothing and everything at the same time. He brought his knees to his chest and encircled his arms around them, his chin placed snugly in the slight dip made by his joint knees. He didn't feel sleepy. The nightmare had woken him up completely and there was no way he was going back to bed now.

"Uncle Charlie don't please it hurts! Stop! Stop! Please Stop, Uncle Charlie Please it hurts so much."

No.

This couldn't be happening.

He hadn't had a panic attack in months ever since the nightmares stopped.

"Shut your mouth and do what I say or it'll hurt more than you can imagine."

Kurt ran his hands through his hair as he tried to steady his breathing. It was getting out of control.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

Get in control. Get in control.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

He just hoped he didn't have to deal with this in school.

Xxx 

Kurt was 10 years old when he lost his virginity.

Kurt was 10 when the nightmares started.

Kurt was 10 when he found out what Uncle Charlie was doing was wrong.

And Kurt was 10 when his life was ruined forever.


	7. Chapter 7

_Age 11_

_Kurt knew he was gay. He might have only been eleven but he definitely knew the difference between liking a boy and liking a boy. He never showed any interest in girls either, so that on its own was a huge giveaway. He didn't want to openly admit it to anyone, though. Especially if it meant that he would have to go through what he did almost every day with Uncle Charlie. He didn't want to hurt more._

_It didn't help that he was already being teased and bullied in school for being too girly and wearing weird clothes. His style of clothing was a little out there to say the least and it wasn't as if Kurt was ashamed of that fact. His mother had raised him to appreciate art and fashion at its best. She had worn the most beautiful dresses and she made sure Kurt was dressed to match. He just wanted to be like his mother. It would have been his mother's wish for him to carry on her legacy. He wouldn't be caught wearing something she didn't approve._

_The boys in Kurt's middle school had other ideas. They teased him mercilessly about his "fairy clothes" and how he was more of a girl than a boy. He didn't see a flaw in that statement. Even Uncle Charlie, his worst bully, was honest with him. He kept calling Kurt "pretty" and "beautiful" and those weren't words to describe a boy. Those were words to describe a girl._

_He decided that it was time to learn how to be a man. He had begged his father to teach him about cars and its parts. He asked him to teach him how to build and fix cars. His father was thoroughly confused but he obliged anyway because this was his son. He would do anything for him if he could._

_Kurt ended up enjoying his car lessons with his father, much to his surprise. He was absorbed into the world of mechanics and he couldn't keep his hands off the cars. He learnt the basics of a car engine and how a car works. He learnt about the different cars and what made them unique, different from others. He learnt for months, everyday he would stop by after school to watch his father and his employees work and listen to his father spew out random facts about the car he was working on._

_After he knew enough, he was allowed to oil the cars or help his father on occasion. It was one of the only times he truly connected to his father. He loved his father, don't get him wrong but this, bonding over cars, was just something special he hoped to keep forever._

_There was once, a customer came in with his son to get his car checked out. According to his father, the man came in at a couple times a year to make sure his car was in stable shape and was safe to drive without endangering anyone._

_His name was Mr Haynes. He was a nice enough man, friendly but formal, dressed smartly, in a suit and tie, his hair styled neatly and not one out of place._

_His son's name was Cory. He was about eleven, like Kurt, but tall for his age. He was dressed in a shirt and vest, a combination Kurt approved of because it fit him well. He always had a cheerful smile on his face, his eyes full of warmth and happiness, something Kurt wanted back. He used to be Cory before Uncle Charlie destroyed him._

_He liked Cory. Cory became his first crush._

He didn't know what he had been thinking. He honestly had no clue. Finn Hudson was the quarterback of the football team; he was popular, unobtainable and straight. Kurt was so not his type but apparently 'the heart wants what the heart wants' because despite all those circumstance, Kurt was still infatuated with the tall teen. Sometimes he wondered what was wrong with him and then he would realize: everything. Everything was wrong with him, so what's one more reason to add to that growing list. What more could go wrong? There's nothing worse than having a crush on a straight football player.

How about cutting, or getting raped, or not eating, or purging, or lying to your father? His mind helpfully supplied. All he could do was try to block the voice out. He would fail but it was trying that mattered.

He probably liked, no liked wasn't an appropriate word for the given situation. He admired Finn? No, still not the right word. He didn't idolize him. Maybe Finn interested him because he was the only person who was ever nice to Kurt. And let's face it; Kurt didn't get a lot of nice. Especially from boys. The way Finn treated Kurt was new, different but it wasn't unwelcomed.

You had to admit, though, there was an appeal to him and he was cute for a football player. Cute enough, at least. He had a goofy grin and friendly eyes; he was freakishly tall but not scarily so. He wasn't the smartest knife in the drawer but he wasn't dumb either. He was a good balance, everything Kurt was not.

Or maybe, just maybe, Kurt was interested in him because he was a lot like Cory in many ways.

Liking Finn was a mistake; Kurt knew that from the start. Especially since Finn had a girlfriend and was in love with said girlfriend or was he in love with Rachel? Kurt was so confused. It was like watching a soap opera.

Anyway, setting their parents up to get closer to Finn was an even worse idea. He hadn't considered the consequences of his actions or the result of his plan.

He knew Finn would snap at some point. He couldn't actually blame the guy. Everything happened so quickly, even Kurt had to stop to think over how things got to this point. How their parents had started dating, how their relationship was getting serious, how they ended up moving into a house together, and most importantly how Kurt and Finn ended up yelling at each other in the basement.

It was over so quickly, Kurt wasn't even sure it actually happened. But it happened alright. It happened and it was his entire fault. Why couldn't he just be normal? Finn didn't deserve to get kicked out of the house; he did for being an abomination.

And that faggy lamp

Faggy lamp

Faggy

Fag

He was just a useless fag. He excused himself from his father's presence to head to the bathroom. He needed his razors. His wrists were itching.

He stumbled into the bathroom, wobbly and unstable, much like how he was feeling now. He closed the door, locked it, took off his clothes, filled up the tub with some water and got in. He took his box of facials with him and clutched it to his chest, his heart beating faster than usual. He dug around for his razors with his shivering hand, took it out and brought it to his arm. He cut as many times as he was called a fag, at least as many times as he could remember and then he added a few more just for good measure.

By the time he was done, he had 19 cuts, big and small, shallow and deep but all staying parallel and controlled. He wiped and washed his arm clean until the tub was filled with red and he drained the colour away, he couldn't help but laugh at the irony of his life literally going down the drain.

He went to bed that night hoping he would have the same dream he had been having for the past few weeks. And he did.

Kurt doesn't forgive Finn for what he said. How could he? He never forgave any of the Neanderthals on the football team for calling him a fag so why should Finn be any different? Why should he get special treatment when no one else did? It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair how Kurt was so broken, so scarred, so fucked up while Finn was perfect. He was the perfect son and the perfect leader. Everyone loved him, everyone admired him, looked up to him. Finn was popular. Finn was popular and he was nothing. He was nothing but garbage they would throw in the trash.

So Kurt doesn't forgive Finn for calling him a fag, he doesn't forgive him for bullying him, he doesn't forgive him for not helping him, he doesn't forgive him for being perfect, and Kurt didn't forgive Finn for trying to steal his father.

 Xxx

Kurt was 11 when he realized that he was gay.

Kurt was 11 when he started working on cars with his father.

Kurt was 11 when he fell in love with cars.

And Kurt was 11 when he had his first, real crush.


	8. Chapter 8

_Age 12_

_"To die would be an awfully big adventure."_

_Kurt stared at the screen in wonder. How could dying be an adventure? Why would anyone want to die? He didn't understand it. He didn't understand it at all. Sure, he felt extremely weak every time Uncle Charlie would come around and he would feel as if he had nothing to live for but dying? The thought itself was scary and a little too extreme for his liking._

_He had been home watching Peter Pan for the first time after his father bought him the DVD. He had some reservations about watching this version because the human version usually didn't live up to the cartoon version. He was thoroughly surprised, however, when it seemed as though it would live up to his expectations. That one line, however struck a chord in him and it floated around in his mind, never leaving entirely, simply waiting for him to remember it again. It lingered in his subconscious for the rest of the day, and the rest of the week. He had watched Peter Pan again, multiple times for the entire week, almost enough for his father to get a little annoyed. He couldn't forget those words, though. And he couldn't help but wonder what dying was like. Was it an adventure?_

_He had tried Googling the word 'death' itself and there were so many results but most of them were filled with sad poems and stories about how death seemed like the only answer. It had many stories about people who took their own lives. Of course Kurt was aware that there were people who took their own lives for various reasons, they had told them that in school. What Kurt wanted to know was why? What would bring someone to take their own lives? He Googled 'suicide' and hundreds of posts came out, some sadder than others, speaking of sadness and pain. Hurt and betrayal. Some of these people had gone through what he was going through at the moment and he promised himself that no matter what the cost, he would never bring himself to try and take his own life._

_But then, promises were always meant to be broken, right?_

Uncle Charlie wasn't Kurt's main source of pain anymore. Finn was. Well Finn and his dad.

His father had forgiven Finn easily, knowing the tall teen didn't mean any harm but was simply uncomfortable in his position during the fight considering his son had a crush on the Frankenteen. Had would be appropriately underlined. After having a talk and fixing things up with Carole, they moved back in, Finn taking Kurt's old bedroom. A part of Kurt was almost glad that Finn got that particular room and not the guest room because of all the dark memories and filth contaminating it. It was like Finn was part of it. Rolling in a pig sty, one would say.

Because right now, Finn wasn't his favourite person in the world at the moment.

Finn was taking his father away from him and his dad was going along with the ride. His insides ached when he saw his dad, Carole and Finn together. They looked like a perfect family, somewhere he didn't belong. If he didn't even belong in his own family then where would he go? What would he do? His father was the only thing that actually mattered to him for so long and now, he could feel that connection slipping away. He felt the urge to call his dad "Burt" because he didn't feel like his son anymore. He felt like a stranger in his own home.

His jealousy wasn't doing him any good. He couldn't think straight. He was wearing a baseball cap and singing melloncamp for fuck sake. He was making out Brittany Pierce in his room! Clearly jealousy wasn't a suit that looked good on him.

But he couldn't take it anymore, they were so close, it felt like Finn was Burt's son by blood. Every step his father took towards Finn was another step away from him. And he didn't know what he was supposed to do to stop it from progressing. What the fuck could he do?!

He ignored Finn in school, ignored the concerned looks on his friends' faces and avoided looking at Finn's face.

He skipped glee and walked right out of school, not even caring about what his fellow glee clubbers would think of him. He just needed to get away. Even his safe haven wasn't safe for him anymore.

Finn was his ride home and he couldn't bear to be in his presence, still. He couldn't sit in the car and listen to Finn talk. So he had to walk. To where, he had no clue but he couldn't go home just yet.

Kurt walked and walked until it hurt. He walked until he found himself among familiar surroundings. His glasz eyes scanned the area, analysing it, before he moved forward slowly until he stood in front of the stone that held something special to him.

He bent down and traced the letters over and over, gently, his breath catching in his throat as he willed the tears not to come. He had been numb all day. His feelings had been kept in a tiny glass bottle filled to the brim, cracks all over, almost ready to break entirely.

He hadn't cut all day, which left his arms itching but he ignored it. He hadn't eaten all day, not even scraps and his stomach hurt a little, but he ignored it. He hadn't been home all day and it was almost dark, his father hadn't noticed. it hurt but it he ignored it.

Burt was busy, probably preoccupied discussing football, sports and such with his straight son. Emphasis on straight, meaning not gay. He wasn't legally Burt's son yet but he would be soon. Finn needed a father figure and Burt would probably jump for a chance at that position. He knew he was being selfish and unreasonable but he didn't have time to think it over, to linger on it because he had something of greater importance to deal with.

Uncle Charlie would be mad that he wasn't home. There were so many things uncle Charlie could do to him but he didn't care. He just didn't care anymore.

He cleared his throat and blinked away the tears that were forming in his orbs. He sat down on the grass, crossed legged, not even caring if he stained his designer jeans. He stared at the stone in front of him, not really knowing what to say or do now that he reached this point. He opened and closed his mouth, like a fish would, and struggled to find the right words to say. Struggled to build up the courage to say it out loud.

So instead, he started simple with, "hi mom"

His smile was forced, tight, sad. It didn't quite reach his eyes, his beautiful eccentric eyes, then again, his smiles never reached his eyes anymore, not since he was ten.

His eyes fluttered close and he took in a deep breath before continuing, "I miss you so much. I wish you were here. You would know what to say to me right now. But it won't change anything, you're still gone and I'm still here." he paused and stared at the ground, his fists clenching tightly. He wasn't sure if he wanted to punch something or cry. Neither would be acceptable though.

"I'm so close to changing that, though. So close. I'm afraid I will. I don't know what to do anymore. I'm losing dad too. He's slipping from my fingers and I don't know if I want to hold on any longer. Carole and Finn will catch him if I let him go. They're already pulling him down from his feet and two people are stronger than one."

They're stronger than me, was what Kurt meant, they're all stronger than me.

"I could save myself and a lot of other people the trouble by giving up now. Then I could be with you. Would you want me, still? Would you still love me if I went through with it? Why does it have to be so easy to let go? Why does it have to be so easy to drown?" he gulped, his tears already falling.

"I could do it right here," he dug into his pocket and fished out his father's medicine bottle. He gripped it tightly.

"I could end it all here and no one would find me. I could just sleep here. Sleep and never wake up. It would all be over. All the pain and all the sadness, I won't feel it anymore. I'm so close, mommy. I want to die. I want to die." he was having difficulty breathing now, he was heaving and the lump in his throat wouldn't go away.

"Make it stop. Make it stop. I want to die. I want to die" he repeated over and over again, like a chant.

He gripped the bottle tighter in his hands, he was itching to open it and get it done with. It could be over in a snap of the finger. He wouldn't have to live through it anymore.

He unscrewed the cap and devoured the pills one by one, he struggled to get them down his dry throat but he managed.

Dear daddy,

This is your son,  
I am writing this to you,  
To tell you I'm done.

Hold back those tears,  
Please don't cry  
Don't make this any harder,  
For me tonight

You will see,  
This is the only way,  
For I am too much of a burden,  
To you everyday.

I know by now,  
You've met my soul mate,  
Her name is Snow White,  
This was just simply fate.

Slowly but surely,  
She led me away,  
From your warm nest,  
Each and everyday.

All the lies and deceit,  
I had to tell,  
I can't stop now,  
I am completely under her spell.

There is no way out,  
Of this darkness and despair,  
A long time ago,  
God abandoned your prayers.

So you see,  
There is only one way,  
To kill myself now,  
And end the pain today.

For this brief moment,  
My thoughts are clear,  
These ten more doses,  
Means relief for you is near.

Don't blame yourself dad,  
You raised me right,  
I messed everything up,  
But I'll fix this tonight.

You may not see it now  
But over time, your pain will ease  
I love you, goodbye  
Yours sincerely, now at peace

He downed the last of the ten pills he took and he closed his eyes, willing for sleep to take him to wonderland and never let him return. And with his last few breaths he uttered, "I'm sorry" and darkness overtook him.

He was only sixteen and yet he could tell you everything about self-destruction. He could tell you how to dress fresh cuts in the dark with makeshift bandages. He could tell you what foods were easy to throw up. He was a master at lying and he could give you all the excuses in the world. He's learnt how to hold his feelings inside until he was alone, in his room, with his razors and his hate. He was only sixteen but he had already perfected his fake smile. And he learnt how to build up his walls high, to keep everyone out.

Xxx

Kurt was 12 when he watched Peter Pan for the first time.

And Kurt was 12 when he learnt the true meaning of death.

"To die, to sleep  
to sleep; perchance to dream"


	9. Chapter 9

_Age 13_

_Kurt had a babysitter. It was weird considering he was thirteen and he had whined to his father that he didn't need one but apparently, "Your Uncle is out of town for a week and I still need someone to watch you." Did his father not understand that having a babysitter as a teenager was embarrassing? He had no say in the situation, though. He had a babysitter and there was nothing he could do about it._

_Her name was Elsa, it was weird and uncommon, yet unique in its own way and he liked the way the name rolled off his tongue so smoothly. It was a name worthy of a Disney crown. He had voiced this out when she had introduced herself to him and all she did was throw her head back, gave a hearty laugh, walked past him, patted him on the shoulder and said, "I like you already, kid."_

_She was eighteen, and she drank alcohol despite not being the legal age. She constantly took beer from the fridge, assuming that Kurt didn't notice but he did. He was thirteen not ten. She had long dark brown hair with pinkish-red highlights that reached her shoulder blades, sparkling green eyes that he couldn't quite read. Her nose was sharp but not enough to make her look ugly. Her skin was pale, not as pale as Kurt's but pale enough and she always had this rosy blush in her cheeks that gave her colour. She was tall and skinny but not too thin, her bones still had a layer of fat covering them. Her legs were long and lean, and they looked like they could go on forever and her fingers were gentle and smooth, if not slightly calloused._

_She was bubbly and talkative but kept to herself at times, sometimes not even sparing a glance at Kurt. She was controlling sometimes but not too overbearing. Her moods changed rapidly from time to time. She would be happy one minute and irritated or angry the next. The slightest thing he did could annoy her to no end. She was like a see-saw, up one minute and down the next, depending on who sat on the two ends of the spectrum. What he noticed most about her, though, wasn't her personality, her moods or her surprisingly good taste in fashion. What he noticed most about her were her scars. They weren't on display, they were covered by long sleeves of sweaters and hoodies but he caught glimpses and they were enough to make him curious._

_But he never built up the courage to ask where she got them from. He had a clue but he needed confirmation. Assumptions weren't always accurate._

_One day, the last day of the week that she would be babysitting him (he was starting to grow rather fond of her being around), she came into the house wearing a blouse with the sleeves folded up to her elbows, her scars on full display and he couldn't help but stare at them in something in between awe and worry. He didn't even know that combination was even possible. He looked up at Elsa, who was reading a gossip magazine she had brought along with her (she had learnt to do that on the second day to pass the time). It was now or never._

_"Hey, Elsa," he started and the eighteen year old looked up from her magazine and looked at him curiously, her eyebrow rose in question._

_"Where did you get those...?" he trailed off, gesturing towards her wrists where some scars were scattered on her skin._

_She looked down at her scars for a moment, as if collecting her thoughts and smiled sadly, "I used to be in a bad place, I still am in a way but I'm trying to get better. I have depression. Clinical depression and these scars are from when I tried to hurt myself. I know you're old enough to understand what I'm saying so I won't try to sugar quote it for you and make it seem like it was just a bump on the ride."_

_She sighed and looked into his glazs eyes, her own eyes swimming with unshed tears as the green in them showed more emotion than he had seen all week._

_"They're battle scars and the war inside me is still ongoing. It was hard for me to go through that and I have done worse things but these are reminders that I can't make disappear. I self-harmed." That was all she could say before she broke down crying while Kurt tried to console her. He hugged her awkwardly (because he had never hugged a girl before and it felt weird) and stayed silent, not uttering a word as he tried to contain his shock and confusion. He would have to consult his best friend, Google later on._

"Why did you attempt to take your life, Kurt."

Kurt sighed for what felt like the thousandth time and stared at the clock, willing for time to go faster. He needed to get out of here.

"I am clinically depressed. It's probably somewhere in that file you can't be bothered to read. I've already told you a million times. What more do you want?" He whined tiredly, fidgeting in his seat. He was getting restless.

"Depression is not a reason for suicide, Kurt. It is a contributing factor, yes but there has to be another trigger, something that pushed you over the edge so to speak, that caused you to try and take your own life."

Try. The word felt bitter on his tongue. He couldn't even kill himself properly. He could fail at something so simple and straightforward. He failed at death as much as he failed at life.

"Are you gay, Kurt?" She tried and he could only scoff at that.

"What gave me away? My fashionable clothing, my high pitched voice or the fact that I said I was gay 10 seconds into this session." He replied sarcastically.

"Hell, it could even be in my file but you wouldn't know because you won't open it."

"I'm simply trying to get to the bottom of this, Kurt." He hated how she said his name.

"Lima, Ohio isn't very gay friendly. Perhaps it was the homophobia that pushed you?"

"With all due respect, that was a stupid assumption. I deal with homophobia and bullying every day. Don't you think that if that was the reason, I would have killed myself sooner?" he rolled his eyes and her eyebrow raised to her hairline, almost disappearing behind the strands of blonde hair that covered her forehead.

It wasn't as if she could help him if he told her. It wasn't as if he could tell her the truth. It wasn't as if he could tell her that Uncle Charlie was getting worse or that the panic attacks were occurring more often or that the flashbacks were getting increasingly graphic. He didn't even want to tell her about his jealousy of Finn's relationship with his father. He didn't trust her. He didn't even trust himself, much less a therapist.

He remained quiet for the entirety of the session that was left. He didn't even try to conceal his bitterness of the situation and she was either to oblivious to notice, or if she did, she didn't comment. They sat and played the staring game. She was staring at Kurt and Kurt was staring at the clock.

He didn't even know what he was doing here. He was tired of playing games. He started to get up from his seat to get to the door but a hand stopped him mid attempt.

"Where are you going? We still have time left on the clock," she said, unnervingly calm.

He tried to match her calmness with his own, "Well it's over for me. I guess you didn't get the memo that my father is in the hospital in a coma, recovering from a heart attack. I'm needed at the hospital. So if you'll excuse me."

He continued on towards the door and stopped in his tracks at hearing her voice, his hand steadily gripping on the doorknob.

"Will you at least tell me something today? Even the tiniest details might help me help you."

He sighed again.

"The medication I was prescribed, it makes me want to kill myself more, not less," he complied.

"I'll try to change your medicine regime then. Thank you, Kurt. I'll see you next week."

He shook his head in response and was out the door before she could say anymore. He knew therapists were a waste of precious time and money.

*72 hours before*

It was bright. That was the first thing Kurt thought when he opened his eyes, or tried to at least. It was difficult considering how heavy his eyelids felt. It took so much effort just to move. He surveyed his surroundings for some kind of clue as to where he was or what had happened. All he saw was white walls, four whit, white walls surrounding him. They were ironically dull, plain and boring but it was a step closer to figuring out where he was. He could barely even look up at the panelled ceiling because the lights were so bright, they could have blinded him. He stared up straight ahead instead to find a small, old school television hung from the ceiling. It was blank, grey borders framing it. He turned his head slightly to the left to fine a small, square window with powder blue curtains that were drawn closed, but the sun still tried to creep through. He heard a beeping to his side, slow and steady, constant and alive just like when he was eight. The beeping increased as his heart rate sped up at his realization. Well, he was definitely not dead.

And he wasn't sure if he was incredibly relieved or incredibly disappointed.

Whenever anyone woke up from a coma or anything like that in a movie or a TV show, there was always someone there when they woke up. It was like a given. A nurse changing the IV, a doctor checking their condition, a loved one holding their hand, Satan, just anyone. Someone was always there. The reality was that when Kurt woke up, there was no one in the room with him. He was alone. And secretly, he was glad no one was there. He needed a moment to process what had happened. He took a moment to collect his thoughts. And he needed time to let the tears fall from the pain.

He was alive. He was alive. He wasn't dead. Why wasn't he dead? He had planned it so carefully.

He closed his eyes once more and let himself drift back to sleep. Who knew waking up was so tiring.

When he woke up again, there was someone there and he was pretty grateful that they had missed their cue the first time around. He didn't know if he would have been able to handle it if they were there earlier.

"Mr Hummel?" he turned towards the gentle voice.

"How do you feel?"

Like I killed myself and didn't die, he wanted to say but he bit his tongue.

"Peachy," he replied instead.

"Alright then, I'll get your doctor and be right back," she left and he was alone...again. Joy.

"Hello, Kurt." Kurt froze. He knew that voice, and it sure as hell wasn't the doctor. He chanced a glance at him and saw the sickeningly sweet smile that was plastered on his face and he looked away immediately. He let out a shuddering breath as he turned to face the man in the room once more, to address him directly.

"Hello Uncle," he greeted formally.

"This is a peculiar situation isn't it? I came here for your father and chanced upon you."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, honestly confused.

"What? You don't know? Your father is in the room two doors down from here in a coma. He had a heart attack after receiving a phone call from the hospital that his dear son was unconscious in front of his mother's grave," he said in an almost mocking tone.

But he couldn't be bothered to think about Uncle Charlie's tone of voice when his mind was occupied with the thought that his father had a heart attack because of him. It was his fault and now he could lose both his parents. How ironic would it be if both his parents passed away and both their deaths were his fault? He found it thoroughly amusing.

He had been thinking for a long time because when he turned to his right, his Uncle was gone and in his place stood a smart looking doctor, who checked his vitals and his condition as well as his state of mind, was filled with the words "Dad" and "heart attack". He must have had a panic attack because the next thing he knew, he was drifting off into slumber, the last thing he felt was a needle pulling out from under his skin. The doctor must have given him a sedative.

The next time he woke up, the doctor had explained that they went through some sort of process or test or whatever and they came to the conclusion that he had clinical depression, not as if he didn't already know that. They assigned him his medicine regime that he was to follow regularly and I had a scheduled appointment with some therapist.

The next person to come through the door was Finn, who he was considerably surprised to see. He looked like a cross between a kicked puppy and an angry seal, if that was possible. He walked right up to Kurt's bedside and the look he had on his face could only be described as livid, or almost there at least.

"You're so selfish, Kurt," was the first thing that he said. That was not what Kurt was expecting at all. Especially not from Finn.

"What?" he asked lamely.

"I said you're so selfish. How could you do that to your dad? He's in a coma now because of you, because you were selfish enough to take your own life. Did you not think of what would happen if you died? Did you consider anyone else's feelings before yourself? How devastated they would be. What? Is it because I called you the 'f' word? You didn't like that I didn't return your feelings? You didn't feel accepted enough? Why would you do something like that? I thought your dad meant something to you," he practically screamed out some of the parts which Kurt knew some of the people outside could probably hear but he couldn't do anything but lie there and take it because he knew that he deserved it. But the last sentence made him livid.

"How dare you? How dare you question my love for my dad? He means the world to me. You don't know anything about me or my life and it's better if you stay out of my business and stay away from me."

"You - " Finn tried to interrupt but he was on a roll today. All that built up anger that he had held in for years was being let out inch by inch but it was enough to make him feel lighter.

"You don't know a single thing about me, Finn Hudson so don't go making assumptions about things you have no clue on. Not everything I do is because of you, Finn. My life doesn't revolve around you. Don't you dare tell New Directions about this or I will make your life hell and believe me, I can," he screamed out. He was heaving by the time he was done, his heart rate increasing so rapidly, the heart monitor started beating wildly, sending nurses flying in to check on him.

Through the small flock of nurses, he saw Carole enter, looking angry and devastated at the same time. He had initially thought that her anger was directed at him the same way Finn's was. Blaming him for Burt's heart attack and accusing Kurt of being selfish by taking his own life. That was, until he heard what she said to Finn.

"Leave him alone Finn, can't you see you're causing him more stress. Just go, leave the room. Please Finn, give him a break. None of it is his fault," she scolded her son like a mother would her young child.

He saw their backs leaving the room as the nurses continued to fuss over him, to get him to breathe normally and calm down as fast as possible. No more visits for today. But he needed to visit his father and soon.

*Back to Present*

The doctor had said that his father would have a week until they would give up and pull the plug.

The week had passed by in a blur. His father had stayed in his comatose state for most of the week. He had sat by his side every day after school, clutching his father's hand in his, begging for him to show any sign of life or to wake up altogether but so far no such luck.

The New Directions had been informed of his father's state and they offered their sympathies to both him and Finn which irked him to no end. But he couldn't be bothered to care. All he cared about was his father.

Uncle Charlie hadn't done anything to or with him as often as he usually did, mostly because Kurt spent most of his time at the hospital but his Uncle would immediately take advantage of the situation if Kurt was at home alone, doing nothing but his homework.

Finn had been ignoring him, in school, out of school, everywhere, basically. Kurt wasn't sure if it was because Finn was angry at him or because he had told Finn to stay away from him. Either way, he couldn't say that he wasn't relieved by that.

The Glee club had tried to force feed religion down his throat after they found out about him being an Atheist and really though, what the fuck was wrong with that? They had declared it "religion week" or whatever simply because Finn made grilled cheese that looked like god? It was stupid, in his strong opinion but he decided not to voice it out.

It had been day 6 since his father had entered his comatose state and he was feeling a little discouraged, sad, depressed, you name it. So, what better way to solve problems than to sing, right?

He had decided to sing a classic Beatles song: 'I Want to Hold Your Hand' but considering the situation of things, the original, fast paced version wouldn't be appropriate so he decided to slow it down. This was his mother's second favourite Beatles song and he hoped to make her proud.

Oh yeah, I'll tell you something  
I think you'll understand  
When I say that something  
I wanna hold your hand  
I wanna hold your hand  
I wanna hold your hand

Oh, please, say to me  
You'll let me be your man  
and please, say to me

You'll let me hold your hand  
Now let me hold your hand  
I wanna hold your hand

And when I touch you I feel happy, inside  
It's such a feeling  
That my love  
I can't hide  
I can't hide  
I can't hide

Yeah you, got that something  
I think you'll understand  
When I say that something  
I wanna hold your hand  
I wanna hold your hand  
I wanna hold your hand

And when I touch you I feel happy, inside  
It's such a feeling  
That my love  
I can't hide  
I can't hide  
I can't hide

Yeah you, got that something  
I think you'll understand  
When I say that something  
I wanna hold your hand  
I wanna hold your hand  
I wanna hold your hand  
I wanna hold your ha-a-a-a-a-a-and

It was day 7 and he was stood by his father's bed, clutching his hand, begging for him to show some sign of consciousness...again. This time however, something was different. Something was very different. He had clutched his father's hand and he felt movement.

"Dad if you can hear me squeeze my hand," he begged desperately and there it was, it was weak but it was still a squeeze. His father was awake! He wouldn't be an orphan after all.

His father was alive.

Xxx

Kurt was 13 years old when he learnt what self harm was.

Kurt was 13 years old when he learnt what depression was.

And Kurt was 13 years old when he started to self harm.


	10. Chapter 10

_Age 14_

_Heart Note._

_That was where he saw Blaine again, the music store a little ways out of town, somewhere in between Lima and Westerville. He hadn't exactly planned on being there at that specific time and maybe he shouldn't be there but his father had sent him to meet with a client in Westerville to check his car out and fix it on the spot or if necessary, bring it back to the shop. But the job had been quick and easy, not taking more than half an hour and he had been on his way home when he decided to stop by the music store he had heard about earlier at the Johnson's house when he was looking under the hood of their family car._

_He hadn't realized it was Blaine at first because his crazy, curly hair had been replaced with a hair helmet that was practically glued down to his head but it was definitely him. His face hadn't changed much, just grew and matured, losing some of its baby fat through puberty. His hair didn't look as soft as it used to, the gel glimmering under the afternoon sun and Kurt had to cringe at the amount, he didn't feel the temptation to touch it the way he used to when he had met Blaine when they were younger. His hand found its way into his pocket and he shuffled forward to get a better look at Blaine. He couldn't help it. He was curious._

_There was something glaringly obvious, though. Blaine's arm was wrapped in an alizarin crimson red cast that looked tight around his rather slim arm. There was a crutch clutched between his arm and body as it carried the weight of his apparently injured leg. There was a dark bruise around his left eye and a purple mark on his left cheek. From the looks of it, he had either gotten into a brutal fight or was beaten senseless. The second option seemed more likely because Blaine didn't look like the type of person who would hurt a fly, what with his slim figure and soft features. He was far away but he could make out the thin lines that scattered his wrist, almost like the ones Elsa used to have, the ones that almost matched his own now. They listed his insecurities, vulnerabilities, pain, sadness. Kurt would know, his did the same._

_There was a woman beside him with curly black hair and golden eyes, like an older, female carbon copy of Blaine. Or Blaine was a carbon copy of her but either way she was probably his mother. She watched him with concern as he struggled to move forward and into the music store. And as he watched Blaine limp forward, step by step, he felt a hint of wonder and...was that guilt? Yep, that was definitely guilt. He let his mind wonder to what would happen if he hadn't just abandoned Blaine at the playground, if he had came back the next day and became Blaine's permanent friend, where would they be now? Would Kurt be beside Blaine? Supporting him like his mother was supporting him right now? Would Blaine have even been hurt? Oh, there's where the guilt is. He felt guilty that he hadn't been there for Blaine, because maybe if he had, Blaine would never have had to go through what he did, whatever it was. He couldn't be sure but he couldn't help but ponder over that fact that maybe if they had been friends, he would have been able to prevent Blaine's pain. But he didn't know Blaine. And he didn't want to. He couldn't. He couldn't let Blaine be dragged into his mess of a life and what he had become. He couldn't cause Blaine anymore pain._

_He watched Blaine eye the guitars hung on the walls of the store and felt like a creepy stalker, like he was breaching Blaine's privacy. He didn't know if he should move and get out of here. To run. Or to go in and approach him. Nope, he wasn't going to do that. Not when Blaine was hurt, not when his mother was around and definitely not when he was such a mess._

_For now, he was comfortable with watching Blaine from a distance through the clear glass window of the music store, and pretended that he knew Blaine, pretended that they hadn't only met once. He pretended just for this moment._

_He wished he didn't have to pretend._

_But he didn't know Blaine. And he never would._

_So he left. He left and he didn't look back._

Kurt had stopped feeling.

He had stopped smiling, stopped laughing, stopped arguing with Rachel, stopped talking to people, stopped singing in Glee, and stopped participating altogether. But no one seemed to notice. He didn't feel happiness, or sadness, or anger, or even pain. He just felt numb. Numb to the bone. He couldn't even cry as easily as he used to. It was almost as if his feelings were locked somewhere in the soundproof attic of his heart, screaming to be let out, but ignored. The bricks of his four walls were under construction, the workers paid to build the walls up higher to block out even the birds. Brick by brick it rose, keeping him isolated to the point where even he couldn't climb out and over it, or knock it down.

He was like a shell of his former self, one the old Kurt would not have been proud of, or maybe he would have. Kurt had lost himself a long time ago, adapting himself to his environment. Don't be yourself. Hide who you are. Blend in. Be like everyone else. He wouldn't know what his old self would have wanted because he himself couldn't remember.

He lost his time to books and music; his readings had taught him that life was but a fairy tale in which reality was the witch. He had never understood that up until now. Hours and days of fairy tales and Disney when he was a kid, all led up to this, one main message that they had wanted to bring across to undereducated children who would only revisit them when they were older and depressed, to overanalyse the books and movies simply to find something meaningful to get them through the day. Was he considered one of them now? He didn't quite know.

What he knew, was that there was no such thing as Happily Ever After or so children are influenced to believe.

His piano was played most frequently when Finn was away. Sometimes, he let Carole listen and he let her praise him, but he would remain quiet and try to swallow the lump that always formed in his throat. She understood that the piano was something that Kurt preferred to keep to himself so she never mentioned it outside of his practices. He was still getting used to her presence, she understood that.

Kurt spent more time talking to his walls than his friends. His razors had been moved, now glimmering on the side table by his bed for convenient use. Self-hatred wouldn't wait for him to get to the bathroom, which took way too long. So he kept two as a solution, one for the bathroom and one for his bedroom. He was somewhat satisfied with the arrangement.

He was home more, fussing over his father and forcing nutritional meals down his throat. It was rather hypocritical of him since he barely ate at all, only scraps of leftovers when his father bothered him about it. He couldn't trouble his father anymore than he already had, more stress could cause another heart attack and he would not risk losing his father again.

His dad had taken the depression news pretty hard. It started off with screaming, then crying, a lot of crying. There was a lot of 'why didn't you tell me's, 'I could have helped you's, 'why would you do this's and 'I don't know what to do Kurt's. It killed him; it absolutely killed him to see his father in that state. He never got to see his father so vulnerable, always the tough papa bear. He had only seen his father like that once before: when his mother had died. Kurt remained quiet throughout the whole process, how could he explain why without hurting his father even more? He couldn't bring himself to say the words so instead, he muttered, "I'm sorry" into the crook of his father's neck.

Burt constantly checked on him, which foiled Kurt's plan to lock himself in his room and drown in his own self hatred the first week they were back home. But Carole managed to convince Burt to give him a little space. One point to Carole.

Carole was a great help. She did all the fussing when Kurt wasn't there or was too busy to do it himself. He was grateful that she was there to take care of his father and that she just genuinely cared.

"I love your father, Kurt, but I care about you just as much. If you need anything at all or just to talk, I'm always here. Remember that," she had said once, her voice so gentle and understanding, and motherly, Kurt wanted to punch a wall. He couldn't understand why she would want to join his family knowing that she would gain a screwed up, depressed son. Maybe she was different. Just maybe.

No.

He had to stay away from her. He didn't want to get attached only to lose her like he lost his mother. He couldn't risk it. He couldn't let his father lose one of the only things that made him genuinely happy anymore. He wasn't part of this family, just a guest waiting to be kicked out. His walls were ever present in his own home for a reason. He never felt safe.

Uncle Charlie was around as often as he could be. He came and went whenever he wanted, even when his father was around; spouting excuses about how he wanted to visit his brother to make sure he was fine, about how he wanted to help as much as he could, that he was there for the family. Kurt scoffed. His dad, Carole and Finn might believe him but Kurt didn't for a second. His assumption was confirmed when Uncle Charlie dragged Kurt to his bedroom when his father had fallen asleep after he had taken his meds and leave exactly an hour and a half later, leaving Kurt a mess on the bed, groaning in pain, giving him half an hour before Carole got home from work and Finn from practice to clean up and take care of his urges.

Kurt didn't understand Finn, probably as much as Finn didn't understand him. The fact that he ever had a crush on the quarterback made him cringe internally. Finn was still ignoring him. He wouldn't even look at him, wouldn't talk to him, he would barely even acknowledge his existence. And if it weren't for the idiot who found him and called 911, he would have been non-existent right now. He should get the particulars of his hero and punch him in the face. Or her, he wouldn't even care if it was a girl.

Finn had kept to his word and uttered none to New Direction about his attempt on his life. It was better that they were left in the dark. It was safer for him. And if Finn wanted to pretend that he was invisible, Kurt would play his game.

It seemed as though most of the football team were playing along as well, as if Finn had sent out a mass invitation to play the Pretend Kurt Doesn't Exist game. Kurt didn't mind one bit if it meant that he wouldn't be dumpster tossed every morning (yes, they still did that, much to his chagrin), or slushied after every period. He could still hear the passing insults he received when walking through the halls but that didn't bother him as much; he lived in Lima, Ohio for fuck sake. There was, however, one member who decided not to have a go at the game at all and his name was David Karofsky. He had always been one of his main tormentors throughout his entire freshman and sophomore years of High School, partnered with his 'bro': Azimo Addams, the two made it their mission to make his life a literal living hell as if it hadn't already been one. He believed their exact words were 'It's our duty to make a fag like you suffer. It was why we were born.'

Karofsky's torments were unpredictable and unexpected; more often than not, keeping Kurt on his toes. And unlike his usual bullying, Karofsky's personal attacks on him made Kurt fearful of Dave's capabilities and limits; if he had any at all. Kurt could only hope that it didn't escalate further.

Kurt sat at the back of the choir room, his chair moved slightly to the right, keeping himself distanced from the strangers he called his friends, observing them in silence (like a tiger would its prey); a bored expression plastered on his face. His posture was slumped in disinterest and his arms were folded, closing himself off from the rest of the group, ignoring their attempts at including him in pointless discussions.

They had gained a new member over the week. I'm Sam...Sam I am...and I don't like green eggs and ham. It was a lame attempt at an introduction but it was endearing nonetheless. He was a tall, well built bottle blond who Kurt had mistaken as a homosexual teen. It wasn't his fault; his gaydar had gone off on its own. He had learnt his lesson, though. No more having crushes on straight guys. It would only lead to rejection and insult. He wasn't worth anyone's time anyway. Who would want someone like him?

Mr Shue walked in, unnoticed by most of the group who were too busy gossiping or in the boys' case, talking about Football and Video games and topics that were so distinctively boy that he knew he wouldn't have cared for the conversation. It wasn't until Mr Shue spoke that their attention was jerked back to the front of the room.

"Alright guys, let's get down to business! First, let's welcome back Noah Puckerman. Puck, I hope your time in juvy has taught you a lesson or two about right and wrong?" Oh right, the idiot who decided that it was a good idea to steal an ATM.

The lesson passed in a blur of words and arguments like it usually did, only this time, they were overpowered by the announcement Mr Shue was making. He couldn't be bothered to pay attention so he pretended. Oh how he loved pretending. He only caught fragments of the announcement, whooping, cheering, applause, then a little bit of confusion.

He left as soon as glee was over and rushed home. It was Wednesday.

Kurt had been deliberately missing his appointments. He still left the house, though, around that time so that his father wouldn't suspect anything. He would drive around, without a destination or a purpose; just drive to everywhere and anywhere. He kept away from places near his house and near McKinley, afraid of running into anyone he knew, afraid of his father finding out. He was actually surprised that his therapist hadn't called his house yet. Maybe he got lucky and she had given up on him. He would have. There was no way of helping, of fixing him and the earlier she learnt that the more time she would have to deal with other patients who actually wanted her help.

It was Wednesday again and he had another appointment. The third appointment he would miss but he didn't care. He hated therapists.

"Hey kiddo, aren't you going for your therapist appointment?" his father interrupted his train of thought and he almost jumped out of his skin in surprise.

"Yeah, Dad. I'm just about to head out," he lied, not even daring to look his father in the eye as he pretended to fuss over his papers, arranging them in neat stacks and placing them aside, distracting himself from the guilt enough to look at his father.

"Alright, kid, be safe," Kurt's eyes softened at that.

"I will, Dad. Promise," was the last thing Kurt said before he rushed out in a hurry, grabbing his keys that were hung by the door on his way out.

He got into his 4 by 4 ebony black Cadillac Escalade and backed off the driveway, heading in the direction of his supposed appointment.

He drove aimlessly for a while, before he realized he was on course to Westerville. He hadn't been there since he was 14 and he hasn't been there since. He didn't stop, though. He continued on going until he stopped in front of a familiar building.

Heart Note.

He remembered this place. It looked a little older, the amethyst paint on the walls were worn, dull and in need of a fresh coating. The sign looked fairly similar to what he remembered, the 'a' replaced with a heart shape and the't' with a quaver note. The inside looked fairly cheerful with guitars hung on the violet walls, posters and picture frames filling up the empty gaps, at least from what he could see from outside. He clicked open the door and stepped out of his vehicle, smoothing over his jacket before entering.

There was a variety of instruments hung and displayed in the store, sheet music neatly organized on the shelves alongside the records and CDs placed by the side wall to the left. There was a grand piano in the middle of the room, surrounded by several other different instruments. The piano attracted him like a magnet.

He sauntered over to the piano and touched the piano gently, as if testing new waters. The piano was newer than the one he had at home but then again, of course it was. His piano was old and overused but he wouldn't trade it for anything. He tinkered with the keys, pressing them lightly, getting the feel of the smooth white and black keys. He got himself comfortable on the bench, shifting slightly to get the right angle and he played his heart out, not even caring about the few people that were in the store with him, browsing through sheet music and CD racks.

He hadn't been able to play his piano as often as he'd like to. Finn being home prevented him from practicing as much and although he was glad he could play at all, he used to be able to play the piano everyday without anyone other than his father listening in. Now, he was dependant on Finn's schedules: football practices, dates with Rachel or Quinn or whoever the fuck he was dating at that moment. He could never do it at his own time and own schedule so being able to touch a piano right now when Finn was home was like drinking water after a whole day of walking in the desert. There was nowhere in Lima he could go to play the piano without risking being seen and mocked by his schoolmates and he was already suffering enough, thank you very much. So the fact that he could play now, in a room full of strangers, people he had never met, people who didn't know him, was a blessing in itself.

He closed his eyes and let himself get lost in the music, letting out all the inner sadness that he would never show anywhere else, not noticing all the eyes of the customers in the store as he started with the slow and simple introduction, working his way through the song (A/N: Igiorni). He opened his eyes a few times just to check on his fingering to make sure that he wasn't playing atrociously, his eyes kept focused on the piano so he didn't notice a certain hazel eyed employee inching his way toward the piano to get a better look, awe and familiarity written clearly in those golden orbs of his.

As the song came to a close, his eyes fluttered open to find people staring at him. He started to close in on himself, suddenly so self-conscious, bare, naked, vulnerable, like his heart had been laid out on the piano as the customers watched him rip it out slowly, inch by inch, beat by beat, key by key until it was fully on display, his insecurities, his troubles, his feelings, his brokenness all out for them to mock. He was about to run out of the store in utter embarrassment when a clatter of applause rang out, spreading across the room like nutella on bread, a disease passed on from person to person until the entire store broke out into applause, the people smiling warmly and kindly. There were nods of heads, thumbs ups, broad smiles and awe filled eyes and they just filled Kurt with joy; joy he had never felt before.

He smiled shyly and moved from his position on the bench, creeping his way slowly towards the door, hoping that no one stopped him so he could just run away and head somewhere else but a hand on his shoulder prevented him from moving any further.

He whipped his head around to find himself face to face with a wide eyed Blaine, his jet black hair still glued down to his head with an enormous amount of gel that Kurt just wanted to wash off to free the crazy curls he knew was under all that product. Their proximity was so close that Kurt could count the flecks of green in them, his eyes shining with warmth and joy, something Kurt didn't see three years ago, something he couldn't see in his own grey orbs now.

"Kurt." He almost didn't catch his soft whispered word. Almost.

"Yeah," was all he could choke out. Run Hummel. It's the only thing you know how to do. Fucking Run. Get out of here now and never look back.

"You remember my name." What are you doing? You were supposed to run. Why the fuck are you talking? Stop it and run before—

"Of course I do. How could I forget the first person who told me my hair was crazy." He chuckled. Too late. Kurt forced a smile in response, itching to get out of there but didn't want to seem rude.

"I'm B—"

"Blaine. I know, I remember," he interrupted with a small roll of his eyes, one that went unnoticed by the ravenette. Blaine beamed. He fucking beamed.

"Can we, um, catch up? I mean my break starts right now and there's a coffee shop across the street. I just want to get to know you?" he stuttered nervously.

Kurt didn't want to. He really didn't want to. He had promised himself three years ago that he would stay far away from Blaine but something inside him urged him to say yes. He didn't know what or why but he had this sudden urge to follow it. He glanced down at his watch, he had about half and hour to forty-five minutes to waste before he had to head back home and he had nothing better to do so why the hell not.

That was where he found himself 7 minutes later, sitting across from Blaine in the Westerville coffee house, sipping his non-fat mocha as he surveyed the new surroundings. There were velvet red walls and chesnut brown tables, a shade darker than his hair colour. There was a distinctive smell of bitter ground coffee beans with a hint of vanilla filling the air. There were a few more patrons surrounding them, making small talk amongst their own tables, like white noise. The shop was quaint and a little retro but Kurt liked it. The atmosphere was much calmer compared to the Lima Bean and the people were much nicer too, more open minded, compared to the ignorant bamboos living in Lima. It was a welcomed change, weird but welcomed. They sat in awkward silence for a few beats before Blaine spoke up to fill the gaps.

"I waited for you, you know." Kurt looked straight ahead, avoiding Blaine's eyes. "Every day. At the payground, I waited for you."

Kurt lowered his head almost in regret. But he didn't even know Blaine. He shouldn't feel regret. He shouldn't care. He didn't care. His mind shoved back to when he was 14, the internal battle restarting once more.

"When I got home that day, I asked my dad for his gel for my hair—"

"Why are you telling me this," Kurt cut in, his gaze trained on the table top.

"I don't know." Blaine shrugged and brought his medium drip up to his lips to take a sip.

"Oh." He hadn't expected that.

Silence.

"What's wrong, Kurt?"

Concern.

"What do you mean?"

Confusion.

"You seem a little distracted. That and your eyes seem sad, broken. I take it you're having a little trouble in school?" Kurt's head jerked up at this, his eyes finally meeting Blaine's.

Not even his friends ever realized this. Hell, his own father didn't see that his little boy was ripping himself from the inside out and this stranger, this person who he had only met once when he was a young boy could see the sadness in his eyes. More than that, he saw past it. He knew what was going on with Kurt without Kurt ever saying a thing to him. And the simple fact that Blaine saw Kurt behind all the walls and barriers meant so much to him right now. Nobody else ever noticed. All his friends, all the people in the hallways, all the teachers, his father...they saw what happened on the surface but nobody noticed what he was going through, what was happening. Nobody else realized how broken he was. But Blaine did.

Blaine did.

"I'm the only out gay kid in my school," he finally starts with a voice so monotone; he could be mistaken for a robot without any emotions. "There's this jock who's made it his mission to make my life a living hell and nobody seems to notice." He couldn't tell Blaine about Uncle Charlie, he can never tell Blaine about Uncle Charlie.

"Prejudice is just ignorance...Kurt. You can choose not to be the victim. I ran...Kurt. I ran from my bullies but you could stand up to them. Everyone is a beautiful work of art and people splatter blobs of unnecessary paint just to make the painting look ugly." His hand reached for Kurt's in what he assumed was a reassuring squeeze and Kurt almost wanted to pull away but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Blaine's hand was soft, if not slightly calloused and Kurt couldn't bring himself to care. But then Blaine pulled away and Kurt immediately missed the contact.

They stayed for another half an hour before Blaine announced that his break was over and that he had to get back to the Music Store. They had exchanged numbers with an empty promise from Kurt that he would text Blaine whenever he needed help.

He left with a parting, "I understand what you're going through, Kurt. I'm always here for you, just remember that."

Then he was gone, leaving Kurt seating there with his empty coffee cup, whispering to himself,

"I wish you did, Blaine. I really wish you did."

It had been a usual day for Kurt: boring classes, useless teachers, ignorant jocks, glee club assignment. Kurt was convinced that it would be one of his better days when he received a text from Blaine mid-glee performance with just one word: "COURAGE". It was a sweet sentiment that Kurt treasured because no one had ever cared enough to do that. Of course, reality had always been a bitch, this time in the form of David Karofsky. He had been walking, harmless to the world, making his way to his next class when Karofsky walked pass him and knocked his phone out of his hand. Oh look an added bonus, he shoved him into the locker, and Kurt was scared and breathless but another fleeting look at his phone on the floor left him with determination that he had never felt before, he ran after a disappearing Karofsky in the locker room.

"Hey!"

"I am talking to you."

"What the fuck is your problem?"

"Excuse me?" Finally that got him talking.

"What are you so scared of?"

"Besides you sneaking in here to peek at my junk?"

"Oh yeah, every straight guy's nightmare, that all us gays are secretly out to molest and convert you. Well guess what, Hammer hawk? You're not my type." Why couldn't he get this?!

"That right?" He was such an idiot.

"Yeah. I don't like chubby boys who sweat too much and are gonna be bald by the time they're thirty." Hey look, the Hummel snark was back.

"Do not push me, Hummel." He was so done holding back.

"You gonna hit me? Do it. You know what? Just kill me right now and save us both the trouble." Karofsky looked confused.

"What? Can't do it? Come on, just fucking hit me or stab me with a knife. Either is fine. But you know what? It's not going to change who I am. You can't punch or stab the gay out of me anymore than I can punch the ignoramus out of you." This needed to end now.

"Get out of my face, Hummel!" He only moved closer. That was his mistake, because the next thing he knew, his face was trapped in between Karofsky's huge hands and his lips were attacking his. Kurt pulled away desperately, trying to contain the panic attack that was rising in him. His vision was blurry and his breathes were heavy but he could see enough to push Karofsky away when he went in for another one. He heard a slam of a locker and footsteps moving quickly out the door. His breaths were coming up short, his eyes moving frantically in their sockets, as he slid down to the cold hard floor. He hugged his knees to his chest and all at once his flashback became clearer.

Hot, wet, rough lips attacking his own soft ones. Biting, sucking. Hands, there were a lot of hands and they were cold, cold and rough. He could make out Uncle Charlie's face as he smirked down at him. Pushing him further onto the bed, pressing his weight against Kurt's young, weak body. He struggled to get free but he was trapped.

"The only way you're going to survive this is if you enjoy it, Kurtie."

"Let me go! Let me go!" Wailing, trashing, panic, fear.

"Stop moving and enjoy it!" A smack to the face. Tears welled up in his eyes because there was so much pain.

As soon as the panic attack ended, Kurt ran home. He was supposed to wait for Finn but he couldn't. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him and he barged into the house, careful not to alert his father of his arrival and come down to see the arrival of his tear streaked son. He ran down to his room and dug for his razor in his side table drawer, plopping himself on his bed and bringing the shiny, silver blade to his wrist. He needed this. His urges were too strong. He needed to get rid of the pain.

His heart started to speed up at seeing the blood drip from the cuts, because he knew he had done something he shouldn't have, and yet he had gotten away with it countless times. He went into a deep trance staring at the cuts, because the feeling is truly dazzling, those bright red lines, like a highway route on a map that you wanted to follow to find out where it led. It was all of his pain, his fear, his anxiety, his terror, death, instantly washed away in a bright fire, which made him feel electric, and alive, as if he were that fire. And, oh, the sweet release, the best way Kurt could describe it, kind of like a balloon tied to a little kid's hand that somehow manages to break free and float into the sky. He just knew that the balloon was thinking, I don't belong to you after all; and at the same time, do they have any idea how beautiful the view is from up here? And then the balloon remembers, after the fact, that it has a fear of heights and it just snapped back to the cold harsh reality of the fact that he would never be free. Not fully, not truly. When reality kicked in, Kurt grabbed the toilet paper off his desk and pressed it hard against the cut. He threw the bloody tissues into the toilet and watched the water go a pinkish red before he flushed them into oblivion and wished that it was really that easy.

Xxx

Kurt was 14 when he saw Blaine again.

Kurt was 14 when he saw how broken Blaine was.

Kurt was 14 when he decided to stay away from Blaine.


	11. Chapter 11

_Age 15_

_There once was a boy who wanted everything and at the same time, nothing at all._

_He spent his days alone and lost, like a baby bird stuck in its nest, waiting for his mother to come back to the nest and teach him to fly. But she doesn't come back, hasn't come back for a long time but he still waits. He watches in envy as the other birds flew around, while he stayed cooped up in his only home. He was afraid of flying, afraid of falling. He longed for his mother's love and his mother's arms once more but even his mother didn't want him anymore. All because he wasn't brave enough to fly. He wanted the other birds to stop teasing him because he wasn't like them. But he couldn't fly out to prove them wrong._

_He just wanted to fly. That wasn't too much to ask for, was it?_

_But it was. It was too much because there was someone preventing him from flying. There was someone preventing him from trying. There was someone holding him down and muffling his screams as he struggled against him. How could no one see? How could no one notice when the nest was so open?_

_Why couldn't he just fly away?_

_Because he was weak. He was weak and he was pathetic. That was why he couldn't fly._

_Oh how he wished that he could try._

_But now he wanted to fall. He wanted to fall and see how long it would take before he took his last breath._

_That was his everything and his nothing._

Kurt could easily throw around the word hate, recklessly and without reason. But there was one particular person he reserved that word for, a permanent parking space that this person would take advantage of, staying there forever and never moving out. Because it was his spot and boy was he proud of it.

The man was a sadist, taking pleasure in the sufferings of other. Kurt was his personal entertainment, his very own performance that he could watch and re-watch live and up close. He probably had other toys but Kurt was his favourite. He was convinced that he had taught Kurt everything he knew and maybe that was true.

He had taught Kurt everything he knew about himself. His weaknesses, his insecurities and his pains. They were all locked up somewhere deep inside Kurt's heart and Uncle Charlie was the key to the lock, releasing all the bad memories and bad thoughts that came with them.

Uncle Charlie would watch in content and pleasure as Kurt struggled against his tight grip beneath him. The smirk that Kurt hated so much was fixed on his face and his eyes darkened with lust. He would take Kurt mercilessly and without regret, not even bothering to apologize when Kurt would wince or scream out in pain. He would only be more motivated to go faster.

He would leave an hour later, satisfied with his work, leaving Kurt a mess on the bed to cry his eyes out.

Kurt's razor would invite him to play its cruel game of 'Pain Pain Go Away'. The glimmer of the razor blade would reflect in his eyes as he watched it pierce his alabaster skin. And as the blood dripped slowly from the clean cut, he closed his eyes in total bliss. He regretted allowing himself to start those two years ago but he couldn't stop now. He was too far ahead to stop.

School was another story entirely. It was like his second prison; as if a first one wasn't enough. The torture wasn't as brutal but it was enough to wish his nonexistence. Daily dumpster dives, constant slushy facials and occasional locker shoves were at the forefront of the list of reasons why he wanted to quit school for good. Other reasons included being verbally abusive everyday: fag, homo, gay boy, fairy, girly boy; every cliché gay insult in the book. Creativity wasn't their forte and who could blame them, being raised in such an ignorant, closed minded town. If anything, Kurt pitied them.

But everything they said about him was true. And maybe he should just go away forever.

When he got home that day, he locked himself in his room, plugged in his headphones and turned on the radio. He had worn out the playlist he had saved on his iPod and he was too lazy to turn on his laptop. It was one of those days and Kurt was lucky he survived one period. He didn't usually listen to the radio because he was never in the mood for all the cheery, happy songs that the DJs usually played. See how desperate he was?

He tucked himself in a corner of the bed, curling up into a ball and leaning against the headboard, his eyes trained on the ceiling. He hadn't expected anything out of this; he just needed a distraction. But what he got was so much more. He wouldn't say that it reflected his life like a mirror did because it didn't and there were so many differences but there were some similarities as well.

"As frightened as you,

Of being alive."

He was. He was afraid of being alive.

Xxx

Kurt had always wanted to be an artist. If broadway or fashion didn't work out, he wanted to draw. It didn't matter what or where, he just loved to draw; he loved art. It was simply beautiful and he wanted that. He wanted beauty but he had none; nothing about him was beautiful. He had thought about dying his hair a different colour, maybe blue or red, or he could get a tattoo; that was art wasn't it? Would that give him the beauty he longed for? But he was only seventeen and he doubted that his father would allow such drastic changes. So for now, he could only stick to the one beauty that he had.

Most people drew animals, buildings, people or anything of that sort, but Kurt drew lines, beautiful red lines that he inked into the canvas of his arms. He just drew; he drew like he knew how to do, like he could until his arms burnt. It felt like emptiness, pure in its form. It felt like pain, sharp as it burned. It burnt and it burnt and the skies were painted grey because he burnt. The red swirled so beautifully with the grey, mixing together as they formed such a strong, dominant feeling in him. Everything about the art was beautiful: the red, the lines, and the pictures it formed, but then again of course it was. He had long given up his controlled, parallel lines in favour of the art because it was so much more beautiful when he drew.

He remembered the first time he did this. He couldn't forget an experience like that no matter how old or how deranged he became. A memory like that follows through your whole lifetime. He remembered crying his eyes out, tears that broke away the numbness, mixing with the blood running down; so much blood. He remembered the pain, raw and real physical pain that overpowered the emotional one. But it was so worth it.

He thought over all the reasons why he wanted to be an artist, always reminding himself so he wouldn't forget.

His mother was dead. It had been his fault. His aunt had left him. That was definitely his fault. His dad was slowly drifting away from him. It was neither Carole's nor Finn's fault. It was his. His father was sick. That was all his fault too; he had caused it. Every single bit of it was his undoing. Uncle Charlie. Uncle Charlie was his punishment and he would accept it.

Xxx

Kurt had not left the house in days; the outside world no longer appealed to him. He only left the house for school and stayed in his room for most of the day, only coming out when Carole called him up for dinner. His dad and Carole came down to check on him often, much to his annoyance at times. They would disturb the peace he had set up for himself and he would be forced to start over again.

"How are you, son?" "I'm fine, dad."

"How are you?" "I'm fine, Carole."

After a countless disturbances and countless questions that were all fairly similar, he gave up trying. He would just have to live without the force field that he had built to keep him away from the world.

Carole was fine; she was nothing like his mother but no one could ever replace the hold his mother had on his heart. She treated his father well, though and he could tell that she genuinely loved and cared for him. He could learn to get used to her if she gave him enough time. He was lucky that she wasn't one of those evil step-mothers like in Cinderella. He could be worse off than he already was. Ungrateful. Selfish.

He hadn't gone out with any of his friends for weeks and they were starting to get worried about him. He wasn't sure why. Why did they care? It wasn't as if they had before. Apparently, the glee girls had gone behind his back to get their boyfriends to deal with Karofsky for him. He didn't need their fucking help; he wasn't some vulnerable mockingbird. But they did it anyway and it had gone so well; note his blatant use of sarcasm. He knew they hadn't done it for him, though. Mike and Artie had done because their girlfriends had asked them to and they would do anything to make them happy. Sam didn't do it for him either; he hadn't gotten a black eye for Kurt. He did what he did because he saw that his friends were in trouble; he hadn't done it for him, Kurt was sure.

Finn didn't participate in any of this and Kurt didn't blame him at all. He clearly didn't believe that Kurt needed or deserved the help after everything that he did, no matter what Finn claimed his reasons were for not joining the confrontation. He knew Finn didn't like him very much and he didn't particularly like Finn either. They had a mutual understanding.

Mercedes was mad at him, although he had no idea why. Mercedes was Kurt's best friend, that was true, but they never actually talked about anything other than music and boys. They had never had a real heart-to-heart conversation about things that actually mattered which was probably why Kurt ignored her most of the time. Mercedes was confusing sometimes, she called herself Kurt's best friend and yet they would argue and she would ignore him for a whole week before she would be at his side, talking animatedly about a boy she met somewhere in a convenient store. What did she take him for? No really, what did she take him for because he sure as hell didn't know.

Rachel was the annoying parrot in his head, annoying and criticising him, but he needed her. He needed her to keep him in check. She made sure he knew how talentless and worthless he was, not in those exact words but he could read in between the lines. There was no one quite like her in glee club; maybe Santana but hers were different kinds of insults.

Xxx

It was Wednesday and he couldn't avoid his therapy sessions anymore. His dad would find out sooner or later if he continued with his habit and he didn't want to risk it. He got into his Cadillac Escalade after school, careful not to run into any of the jocks as well as avoiding everyone from Glee and sped off in the direction of Westerville. It had been about an hour when Kurt finally arrived at the clinic. He took the stairs up to the second floor and opened the door to his extreme right.

As he was signing in, he heard a click of the door, signalling that the previous patient had just left the room and that it would be his turn very soon. He turned away from the reception desk and was face to face with one Blaine Anderson.

"Kurt?"

"Blaine?" What in the world was Blaine doing here? Did his mother work here? Was his mother Kurt's therapist? Was he working here? Was he here for a therapy session?

"What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question." Good job at deflecting, Hummel.

"My therapy session just ended."

"Oh. You have therapy sessions?' That's right. Avoid you.

"Yeah"

"Okay I'll see you then." Well this started getting awkward.

"Sure"

Xxx

Kurt was sitting on the slightly dented couch as he stared at his therapist, waiting for her to ask a question that actually mattered for once. But none came, as if she was waiting for him to take the first step. She was trying to make him comfortable. She was trying to get him to trust her.

"I'm sorry I've missed two of our sessions. It's just been a busy few weeks."

"It's fine, Kurt. I understand. The life of a student can be hard at times."

"Don't," he spoke up abruptly.

"Don't what?" Her face was scrunched up in confusion.

"Don't try to understand. Don't try to get me to trust you," he practically growled out.

"Kurt," her voice sounded calm but tired and there was a hint of frustration, "the purpose of these sessions is to get you to trust me so that you can open up more. Don't you want to get better?"

Kurt didn't grace her with an answer or bother to keep in his frustrations towards her and this entire session. He didn't need help. He had never needed help. What difference would it make? Nothing would change. So instead, he stared at the ground at her feet, practically glaring at it.

It went on like that for a while, she would ask him a question and he would remain quiet or only respond with a few pointless words before her voice changed in its tone and volume. She became serious.

"Just tell me one thing will you, Kurt. Just for this session?"

He sighed, "Sure."

"Why do you self-harm, Kurt?"

His eyes widened slightly and his body straightened at hearing those words. His eyes, that had been trained on the ground for the past twenty minutes shot up to meet chocolate brown eyes that bore into his.

How was he meant to explain such a vast surge of emotion into one explanatory reply? Was he meant to tell her everything that had built up over the years? Was he meant to tell her the self hatred he had developed? Was he supposed to recall every excruciating detail as to why he felt the way he did and what had caused him to feel that way? He just didn't get it.

How she could only see the cuts, see the 'sadness' and not realize there was something more? How could she understand if she saw it as something that could be solved so easily? What he was going through was something larger than a piece of sharp metal and a bad night. Behind all those cuts, there was a broken human that felt so lonely and helpless that they've turned to self destruction. It wasn't just him; it was a lot bigger than that. Every single person that was depressed or self harmed went through a scale of the same emotions: it only depended on the intensity of the feeling. They would feel all of this; they just wouldn't let it out. How could they when all everyone saw were the cuts and nothing more? How could they expect them to explain themselves? How did she expect him to explain himself?

He remained quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts and searching for the right words that would clearly elucidate his reasoning for his self-harming.

"Okay. Suppose you're at a formal party or a social event that you were required to attend and everyone who hated you was there. It's crowded because there are so many people who hate you, who want to make your life miserable and you're stuck there because you have nowhere to run. They all drag you into their conversations where they list everything that is wrong with you and everything you have to do to make yourself right. To make yourself normal. Just imagine that all these people are inside your head and all the words they say are stuck inside there too; your head is full. You don't have anywhere to place these extra thoughts so you place them somewhere else, somewhere permanent because they can't fit into your head anymore. I place them on my wrist. Some people place them on their thighs or stomachs because they have nowhere else to place them. Do you understand now?"

She smiled softly, "Yes. I do. I'll see you next week, Kurt and please come this time."

He left without saying goodbye or so much as even a glance in her direction and walked into the waiting room where he saw that Blaine was sat.

"Oh you're still here," he commented dryly.

"I was waiting for you," he was never discouraged by anything was he.

"What do you want, Blaine?"

"You've been ignoring my texts. I just want to talk to you. Coffee?"

He sighed, "Sure. Why not?"

Xxx

"I went through something really bad in middle school and I had to go to therapy for a long time because I was depressed. I would have nightmares and wake up screaming in the middle of the night. The nightmares came back. That's why my mom sent me to therapy again. She's afraid I'd get bad and depressed again." Blaine had explained when they reached the coffee shop opposite Heart Note.

Kurt hadn't asked but Blaine had probably see the questioning look in his eyes when he saw Blaine at the clinic earlier so all he said was: "Oh." It was pathetic but it was all he could come up with because this boy sitting in front of him was once broken too.

Was he as broken as Kurt was or is?

Kurt still wondered.

Blaine was quite the chatterbox as Kurt came to learn. He would talk about anything or nothing at all, as if trying to fill up the void that they had left in their previous conversation. The topics of discussion would range from the weather to what he had for lunch to what Blaine had done in the music store. It was nothing like the Rachel Berry madness babbling he was so used to or when Mercedes gushed about a cute boy she met in a book store somewhere. For once, Kurt actually listened to what Blaine was saying instead of zoning out and nodding unconsciously to pretend as though he was listening to either of the two girls. Of course, one thing remained the same; Kurt would only contribute a one-word response to any and all of the questions Blaine threw at him, but Blaine didn't seem to mind.

In the half an hour that they had been sat in the cosy coffee shop, drinking, Kurt had learnt that Blaine attended Dalton Academy in Westerville, a private all boys school and was part of the Warblers, the all-male show choir group that Mr Shue had mentioned in Glee the other day: their competition for sectionals. He had learnt that Blaine had an older brother named Cooper who was more than a decade older than him and lived in Los Angeles. He had learnt that Blaine's family was quite well off because Blaine's father owned his own law firm, which he wanted Blaine to take over but Blaine was more interested in the arts – much to his father's disappointment – and that his mother owned her own fashion company. He had also learnt that Blaine worked at the music store after school every day except on weekends to pull his own weight; the pay wasn't as high as it would be in a law firm but it was something Blaine loved to do, so he didn't mind.

Not once did Blaine ask Kurt to talk about himself, other than the occasional random questions and asking for Kurt's opinion on a certain topic; Kurt appreciated that. He listened as Blaine went on to talk about the friends he had at Dalton and about their many adventures on the campus, some that led to trouble.

They continued to sip on their warm coffee as Kurt observed Blaine and studied his features. He studied Blaine's body language: his arms were placed calmly on the table, his legs barely reaching the ground (due to his hobbit-like height), his shoulders were relaxed and free of any tension, his back was straight but not stiffly so and his head was tilted slightly to the side. His gestures were small and simple, keeping into his own boundaries as he recounted his tale. Kurt was awed by the sparkle in those bright hazel eyes and the dazzling smile Blaine couldn't keep off his face and he found it adorable how his eyes would crinkle as he laughed or smiled.

Wait. Shit. What was he doing? He couldn't think like that. He couldn't risk thinking like that. He can't like Blaine. He couldn't fall for Blaine no matter how nice he was. No one would care about him on that level, especially not someone like Blaine. Why would Blaine like someone as broken as him? Sure, he had his own demons but he was stronger than Kurt; so much stronger. Push those thoughts out of your head, Hummel. He's out of your league. You don't deserve Blaine. You don't deserve someone like him. You don't deserve anyone.

He couldn't deny how comfortable he felt around Blaine, though; more so than he had been with any of his so-called "friends". So, he locked his feelings in another box, taped it up, locked it up deep inside his heart and shook it off, pretending as if he hadn't felt anything at all. Blaine was the kind of person Kurt could learn to let in and that thought terrified him.

Xxx

Kurt was gone most afternoons, driving over to Westerville to visit Blaine at the music store and frequently, have drinks at the Westerville Coffee House. He would text Blaine right after school to let him know he was coming so that the younger boy could expect his arrival. They had exchanged more texts after their meeting on Wednesday, and Kurt felt more normal than he had ever been before. Not quite the normal kind of normal but it was Kurt's kind of normal; that was enough for him.

Kurt was around enough that he would often end up playing the piano there anyway, with no fear of anyone from Lima coming here to see him play. His piano at home was already collecting dust from sitting in the corner without anyone to play it. Finn was always home when he was and he didn't want to share his ability with him just yet because he didn't trust Finn. The dynamic of their relationship had started to change after the whole basement 'f word' incident that Kurt would never forget. It also served as a daily reminder that although they were now living together and that their parents were dating, they didn't have to share anything with the other and Kurt did not have an obligation to tell him about his past or any of his secrets, like his piano. It was like his safe word. Every time he felt like he could tell Finn or at least talk to him about it, he forced himself to remember Finn's voice saying that word over and over again.

He had made a deal with Mr Finch, the owner of Heart Note, seeing as more customers came in when they heard Kurt play. Kurt would play at least one song every afternoon while he hung out with Blaine and Mr Finch would pay him five bucks for every song that he played. It was a considerably high price, considering that he only played the piano but Kurt accepted it anyway because he knew that he would need the money somehow. So he played every afternoon like he promised and then, he would accompany Blaine to the Westerville Coffee House for his break.

Sometimes, Kurt would sit quietly with Blaine as he did some admin work or sorting and organizing of equipment in the back room. Kurt would try to complete the homework that he had brought (learnt to bring a while ago), or just study while watching Blaine work at the same time. Blaine would talk less during those times, but it wasn't at all awkward, just comfortable, peaceful. Although, Blaine would pipe up out of nowhere in between his work load and ask Kurt random questions so trivial that he couldn't not answer them.

"Kurt, what's your favourite colour?"

"Blue."

"Like the sky?"

"No...not like the sky. Dodger Blue; I like dodger blue."

"What's yours?"

"Pink."

"Pink Panther, pink?"

"No. Hot pink."

X

"Dogs or cats?"

"What?"

"Dogs or cats?"

"What does this hav—"

"Just answer the question, Kurt."

"Cats."

"Oh. I prefer dogs."

"Okay then."

X

"Kurt, what's your favourite movie?"

"Front of the Class."

"I've never heard of that."

"Not many people have."

"I should go watch it sometime."

"...I love Harry Potter"

"That's nice, Blaine."

X

"Do you like aliens, Kurt?"

"Blaine, this is getting ridiculous."

"Come on, Kurt. It's a serious question."

"Fine. Yes, I like aliens."

X

"Are we friends, Kurt?"

"Huh?"

"Are we friends?"

Were they friends? Kurt had spent more time with Blaine in the past week alone than any of his other friends in a month. He felt more comfortable and normal when he was around Blaine, as if no matter what he did, Blaine wouldn't judge him at all. Blaine wasn't broken – not as broken as Kurt was now – but he understood what it felt like. He had been somewhat close to happy around Blaine, if he remembered what that emotion felt like correctly. He knew his answer.

"Yeah, Blaine. We're friends." The wide smile Blaine showed was worth it in the end.

Xxx

At age 5, he wanted to be a prince.

At age 7, he wanted to be a dancer.

At age 9, he wanted to be an artist.

At age 11, he wanted to stop hurting.

At age 13, he just wanted to be happy.

At age 15, he wanted to be dead.


	12. Chapter 12

_Age 16_

_Tonight,_  
I am taunted  
With the idea of  
Slicing open my skin  
And letting the blood  
Trickle ever so slowly.

 _Tonight,_  
I want the pain  
That I don't understand  
To be replaced  
By the familiar feeling  
Of a cold blade  
With sinister intent.

 _Tonight,_  
I wish only  
To feel better  
In a world  
That is so hateful  
It makes me hate myself

_Kurt wasn't sure how long he had been sat in that room, staring into space as the chaos continued around him. That was the problem with Glee Club; there was so much talk about family and acceptance when all they ever did was fight and talk over each other. They couldn't be further away from being family. All that acceptance nonsense was total crap. If it hadn't been for his father and the fact that, admittedly, those guys were still Kurt's friends in a way, he would have left the group months ago after his suicide attempt, or maybe even before that. He used to think that Mr Shue was like a second dad, watching over them in school when their own parents couldn't but it turned out that Mr Shue was just like every other teacher in that screwed up school, oblivious to the happenings and the social chains within the school. Kurt could say that he was better than the teachers who simply ignored the bullying despite the fact that they do notice it but he wasn't; he was just as bad. He couldn't even control the Glee Club and he acted more like a student than a teacher, as if he was re-living his high school days in a way he never got to before and it was fucking creepy. He had sang 'Toxic' with them in front of the entire school during assembly and while Kurt would admit that the performance was epic, it was still extremely creepy that Mr Shue had danced suggestively to a Britney Spears song with them. Was he the only one that felt that way?_

He was snapped back to the cold harsh reality that was Rachel Berry when her shrill voice echoed through the room as she screamed at Santana due to yet another insult that Santana had thrown her way. Kurt sighed in defeat; he was never going to escape this torture. Why couldn't Rachel just let the ball strike out instead of swinging all the time? He laughed quietly to himself as he realized that he had made a baseball reference; his father would have been so proud. Tiredly, he grabbed his bag that had been hung on the back of the chair beside him and slung it over his shoulder as he got up to leave. He ignored the weird look Tina sent his way beside him and continued walking down the steps towards the door before a hand halted his movement.

"Where do you think you're going, Kurt? Glee Club isn't over yet," Mr Shue chastised, staring down at him sternly, his grip on Kurt's arm ever present. He could see a little confusion in the teacher's eyes as well, probably because he had never expected Kurt to disobey rules; act out and talk back, sure he's done that a million times but never breaking rules.

"I'm leaving. If all we're going to do here is sit and listen to those two fight again, I don't see my purpose in being here. Besides, I have an appointment. Now if you'd excuse me," he extracted his hand from Mr Shue's clutches forcefully and flounced out of the room. He had almost made it to the school exit in a stride before he heard heavy footsteps making their way towards him, fast paced and rushed.

"Kurt, wait!" an all too familiar voice stopped him in his tracks and he sighed again, this time in frustration. He was so tired and he didn't want to deal with more shit right now.

"What is it, Finn?" he asked impatiently, ready to run out to his car and drive off to Westerville to see Blaine again; that boy was like a fungus, he literally grew on you. It was annoying at first but Kurt had learnt to get used to him.

"Where do you go every afternoon? Every day after school, you rush off to get somewhere and you don't come home until seven or eight in the evening and I just want to know where you go," Finn said in a rushed and hesitant voice and Kurt could tell that he had been phrasing his words carefully on his run here to ensure that he didn't hit any of Kurt's 'self-destruct' buttons.

"Where I go is none of your business, Finn. You're not my dad and you don't get to act like you are," Kurt snapped.

"I just worry, dude," Finn said shrinking back into himself, his eyes widening, making him look like a wounded puppy.

Kurt narrowed his eyes into a thin line and looked at Finn seriously, "Well, dude, I don't know why you care all of a sudden but I'm meeting a friend. Can I go already? I'm going to be late."

Finn looked like he wanted to say something more but thought better of it when he saw Kurt's icy glare staring right back at him. He nodded dazedly, muttering a rushed and scared, "I need to talk to you when you get home," before heading back to the choir room as Kurt sauntered out towards his car. He contemplated why Finn would care about his whereabouts all of a sudden when he didn't seem to care about anything related to Kurt since his suicide attempt. Everything led back to that didn't it? Kurt and Finn's strained relationship, his father's health risk, his therapy sessions and he realized, Blaine. Everything led back to his suicide attempt and he wasn't exactly sure if that was a good thing. Now his suicide attempt: that led back to Uncle Charlie who had suspiciously been missing from his life recently. Not that Kurt minded. Uncle Charlie being gone gave him more freedom, gave him relief; never happiness, though; he would never get happiness.

He jerked the car door open, entered swiftly and bucked his seatbelt. He paused for a breath before starting the engine and driving off for his hour trip to Westerville. Blaine better be pretty damn happy to see him, considering the long distance and amount of time Kurt spent going to see him every day.

Dalton Academy wasn't very far from Heart Note, just a mere 5 to 10 minutes away, which was why Blaine was always able to reach the store in time for his shift at 3.45pm on the dot. He would bring a change of clothes along with him every day and changed out of his Dalton uniform as soon as he was done with Warbler meetings and drive to Heart Note. He prided himself on punctuality.

Blaine's smile wasn't as bright that afternoon. His smile was still present but it seemed sad like someone had painted the smile on his face and hid his sadness behind it – like the Joker did. Blaine wore his heart on his sleeve, but you would have to know Blaine to know which sleeve to actually look at. The sadness in his eyes was painfully obvious but none of the customers seemed to notice a thing and Blaine was too polite to let his smile disappear. He was such a dapper gentleman, it was extremely endearing and yet, it felt so wrong to smile.

He pushed the door open gently and the little jingle sounded through the store; it was the official "new customer" signal that had been installed a week ago. Blaine's line of vision was jerked towards the store entrance where Kurt gave a small wave of his hand as Blaine stared at him confusedly. Kurt could see him directing a customer to one of the other employees as he excused himself from their presence, making his way towards Kurt.

"You're early," he said in lieu of greeting.

"Yeah, well Glee ended early so..." Kurt trailed off, not explaining any further.

Blaine didn't catch the lie the way he usually did; he was just too distracted and that worried Kurt. This wasn't the excitable, wise, puppy-like Blaine that he was used to; this Blaine was distant, distracted, sad, hidden from his true self and Kurt wanted to know why. He followed as Blaine walked towards the storage room continue his unfinished work. Kurt was still occasionally playing the piano while he was there and he was still getting paid but most of the time, he simply kept Blaine company during his shift and his workload included paperwork, arrangement and organization of sheet music and CDs as well as simply playing for the customers.

Blaine worked in silence for the next hour, neither saying a word to the other; Kurt too lost in thought and Blaine too lost in himself. It was a slower day and Blaine didn't have a lot to do so he lingered more than he should have and avoided as much as he could but Kurt didn't mind because he was never good at consoling, not like Blaine was. So when his break caught up to them, they walked out the store gingerly and walked to the Westerville Coffee House, hands shoved into pockets and bodies tense. They had argued over who would pay for the coffee, a normalcy that Kurt appreciated in that moment. And then they were sat down, coffees clutched in hands as they stared at each other or at the table.

"Are you okay, Blaine?" Kurt broke the silence to place a pin in the awkwardness.

"Yeah I'm fine," Blaine gave a tight smile and Kurt had to wonder if this was how Blaine always felt when he replied with 'I'm Fine'.

"That's not true and we both know it. I just want you to talk to me," Kurt winced at his own hypocrisy.

"Yeah, like you talk to me?!" Blaine's voice was raised, his eyebrows scrunched together in a frown before they relaxed and softened when he saw Kurt's surprised and frightened face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. It's just not a good day," he placed his head in his hands and rubbed at his eyes tiredly.

"What's wrong, Blaine?" Kurt asked simply.

He could hear Blaine's soft sigh as he looked up once more. His adams apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly and opened his mouth slightly to get the sad, heartbreaking words out, "Today is the anniversary of my sister's death."

"Oh," Kurt didn't say 'I'm sorry' like everyone did. He hated it when anyone said that to him upon hearing about his mother so he didn't say it to Blaine but simply dared a squeeze to Blaine's hand across from his and held it tightly. He saw Blaine smile appreciatively and knew that he had done the right thing; as if he had advanced to round two.

"What was her name?" Kurt asked politely.

"Elsa. Her name was Elsa." Kurt's breath caught. Surely it couldn't be her. Maybe it was another elsa.

"Sorry did you just say Elsa?" he asked inquisitively, hoping that it wasn't the same Elsa he used to know when he was a kid.

"Yeah, I did. Beautiful name, isn't it? Elsa Anderson." His eyes had started to water as he thought of his lost sister.

"D-did she...have a job?" Kurt asked, voice shaky.

"I think she was a babysitter for a while. Babysat a few kids. I was twelve and I got jealous because I thought she was replacing me. I was always closer to my sister than to my brother. My sister was my everything," Blaine recited brokenly but Kurt wasn't listening, he was trying to process the new information shoved at him.

"H-how...how did she die?"

"Car accident," Blaine sobbed, "a three-way collision while she was on her way home from babysitting. She died on the surgery table. Kurt, she wanted to kill herself. She had everything planned. She was going to overdose herself. We found her letters and videos and-" Blaine's wrecked sobs overwhelmed him and he broke down entirely. The few customers in the coffee house as well as the employees looked on worriedly as Kurt tried his best to console his friend; his own tears falling from his face as he got up from his seat to embrace Blaine, memories of his past that were forever attached to his soul resurfaced.

"I used to be in a bad place, I still am in a way but I'm trying to get better."

"They're battle scars and the war inside me is still ongoing. It was hard for me to go through that and I have done worse things but these are reminders that I can't make disappear. I self-harmed."

Xxx

_"Hey Elsa!" he greeted as soon as the front door swung open, revealing the eighteen year old brunette who strutted in with nothing less that sassy grace, if that was even possible. Her previously red highlighted hair was replaced with a bright green that screamed, 'NOTICE ME'. She was fashionably dressed as usual with black leggings, three quarter jeans and a beautiful crop top, her bellybutton piercing on display as she smiled at him._

_"Hey KK," he usually hated nicknames but Elsa was special. She gave him a nickname because he was special to her and she was special to him, like a sister he would never have._

_"Beer's in the fridge if you want any," Kurt said in passing and Elsa smiled appreciatively._

_"You think your dad knows?" Elsa whispered._

_"My dad isn't stupid. I'm sure he knows. What with the absence of one bottle when he comes home after you're over here unless you want me to tell him I'm the one drinking all the bottles of beer. Little old innocent me," Kurt smirked._

_Elsa laughed brightly, "You're anything but innocent, kid."_

_There was a comfortable pause in their conversation as the television played quietly in the background._

_"Hey Elsa?" Kurt called sheepishly._

_"Yeah, KK?" she replied, her voice soft with fondness._

_"You know you're like a sister to me, right?" Kurt asked quietly._

_Elsa's smile grew wider as her eyes grew softer, more loving, "Yeah, Kk, I know. And you're like a little brother to me, even though I already have a little brother."_

_Xxx_

_"Hey dad, where's Elsa?" Kurt asked worriedly. He hadn't seen Elsa in days and he missed her dearly._

_"Well, kiddo, she doesn't work for us anymore because Uncle Charlie is back and he can take care of you when I'm gone." Burt explained to his thirteen year old._

_"But can't I just get Elsa to look after me? Or at least visit her? She's my friend." Kurt whined._

_"Sorry kid, I'm sure Elsa is busy," Burt rejected gently but there was this sadness in his eyes that Kurt couldn't place._

It all made sense now. He shook his head free of thoughts as he held Blaine, not releasing his hold until he knew for sure that Blaine's crying had subsided.

The light at the end of the tunnel  
Isn't visible to all  
The light in the hallway  
Isn't even there  
There's no escaping the darkness  
Simply escaping the pain  
We shut ourselves away  
In the hope of eventually glimpsing the dawn  
They laugh and they jeer  
They don't understand  
We feel so all alone  
With the darkness in our brains


	13. Chapter 13

_Age 13_

_"Elsa, you're late," Kurt announced as he opened the door to reveal the now purple-haired teenage girl, her hands on her hips, a smirk plastered on her face._

_"Sorry KK I had to wait for my hair to dry before I came," Elsa glided past him and into the living room._

_"You know if you keep dying your hair, you won't have any left to dye," Kurt deadpanned sarcastically in reply but Elsa simply laughed with glee._

_"I know but hey, who knows if I'll have a future to care about losing my hair." Elsa made these kind of comments often, implying that somehow or rather she wouldn't have a future to live and Kurt was afraid. He was afraid because he didn't want to lose Elsa, not voluntarily. If one day, she up and left because he was old enough to take care of himself or if Elsa had to go to college or a different school, then he could accept that; but if he had to find out that Elsa made herself disappear permanently, he wouldn't know what he would do. Maybe...maybe he would join her._

_"Stop thinking so much, okay? I know what's going on in that head of yours. You're like an open book. You're kind of like my little brother in that aspect," Elsa didn't really talk about her brother, or anyone in her family for that matter, she would just mention her mysterious little brother in passing and never elaborated on what she meant or told him anything about her brother. He bit his lip, as if trying to stop himself from saying something he would regret and turned back to the programme that was playing on the television. They sat in silence for the rest of the time._

_When it was time for her to go, she walked out slowly, pausing in front of the door, her hand gripping the door handle. She turned to Kurt with a frown on her face. She hesitated for a moment, deliberating on what she wanted to say._

_"Don't let yourself be pushed around, KK. You're better than that, and you deserve better than that. Don't beat yourself up too much, okay? I may not be around for very long so I can't take care of you but if anyone tries do something you don't want to, you have to tell someone," and with that she was out the door before he could reply with anything._

Sometimes, he suspected that she knew, or had her suspicions on his 'situation'. He wasn't sure what she thought was going on but he was pretty sure she was aware that he was hurting himself. He had caught her staring at times at his wrist and perhaps he had been careless in the placement of his arm or the exposure of the scars and cuts on his wrist but she probably knew but she wasn't doing anything or telling on him because she understood. Others may not be as understanding. He had to be more careful about ensuring that no one found out about his cuts. As for her suspicions on the other matter, he didn't understand how she could know. Perhaps she went through something similar? Whatever it was, as long as Uncle Charlie wasn't around when she was, her suspicions wouldn't be confirmed anytime soon but he didn't even have to worry about that because he never saw Elsa again.

Kurt continued to hold Blaine awkwardly as the boy ran out of tears, leaving only red-rimmed eyes, tear stained cheeks, a red nose and sniffles in their wake. He loosened his grip on the boy once Blaine had calmed down enough to steady himself in his seat and flushed in embarrassment as he took in the continuous stares directed at them from the other customers in the cafe. He shuffled back to his seat opposite Blaine and sat down timidly as he continued to survey his surroundings, preparing for the disgusted reactions he had expected from the closed minded people he was used to in Lima. Much to Kurt's amazement, however, none of them looked disgusted by their intimate exchange, neither did they seem angry or appalled in any way, just pure genuine concern mostly directed at the crying boy in front of him. Their eyes shone with shock, worry and curiosity as they stared at the pair of boys and Kurt was taken aback. While yes, none of them knew for sure that either Kurt or Blaine was gay, back in Lima, any form of intimate gesture between two boys especially was looked upon with disgust. Anything further than a fist bump or a 'bro-hug' was considered 'too gay' for society and while Kurt found it unfair, he had learnt to accept the reality of his situation.

Girls, however, were allowed to hug and hold hands and kiss each other on the cheek all they wanted; people simply assumed they were best friends. The question remained: why were girls allowed to display their love and appreciation for their best friend but if boys were caught doing any of those acts, people jumped to the conclusion that they're gay, dating and fucking and would be subjected to countless amounts of teasing and bullying. How was that fair? How could people be so biased and closed minded in their views to think that—

Wait.

Had he just referred to Blaine as his best friend?

He dismissed the thought as soon as it entered his mind. He couldn't get attached to anyone now, especially when he wasn't planning on staying here much longer. He couldn't risk it. Acknowledging Blaine as his best friend would only strengthen their bond and Kurt was too close to Blaine already. He didn't even know what he was doing anymore. He contradicted himself everyday simply by making the journey to Westerville to visit his friend. He looked at the boy before him and knew that he would never want to hurt him as much as he was hurting now; his grief over his sister was just another reason Kurt couldn't get too close; Blaine wouldn't just get injured if Kurt exploded, he would burn too and Kurt couldn't let that happen.

He stared at Blaine for a moment, trying to figure out his next move. He would have to tread carefully because one wrong move could push Blaine's comfort levels and he was already vulnerable as it is. He recalled what he used to do when he missed his mother and the idea hit him like a slushy. Coffee still in hand, he stood up quickly, pulling Blaine's attention that was formerly stuck on the table, lost in thought. He gazed up at Kurt in confusion, head tilted to the side and eyes (still wet and glazed over) wide, he almost looked like a kicked puppy.

"Come on, Blaine. Let's take a field trip," Kurt announced.

Brow still furrowed in confusion, Blaine followed Kurt to his car without much protest.

"Where are we going?" Blaine questioned hesitantly, his voice week and hoarse from crying.

"Somewhere special. I promise I'm not going to murder you or anything just get in my car. I need to show you something," Kurt replied, determination clear in his glazs eyes. He was a little nervous about bringing Blaine to this place because it held a special place in Kurt's heart, something he wasn't sure he was ready to share with anyone; but Blaine needed this so he muted the voice inside his head that was protesting his decision because it would inevitably mean that he shared a piece of his heart with Blaine.

Still sceptical, Blaine got into the passenger seat of Kurt's baby and sat in silence as Kurt started the engine and drove off to Lima.

Fifteen minutes, Kurt parked his car in front of an area that looked like a secluded park. He ushered a curious Blaine out of the car and led him to his little "special place". The trees bristled in the wind and Kurt smiled as the breeze hit them. The smell was so familiar although he hadn't been here since his mother's birthday a few months ago.

"Where are we?" Blaine spoke up finally, not quite looking at Kurt, his eyes breathing in the sights of the beautiful park. They were the only people there, which obviously surprised Blaine because the place was absolutely breathtakingly beautiful.

"This is Cedar Park. Not a lot of people come here because it's out of the neighbourhood area and I think everyone's just too lazy to walk or drive all the way out here. They also don't come here because they say it looks creepy and secluded, especially at night." Kurt shook his head as if in disapproval of the people who lived in Lima.

"How did you find out about this place then?" Blaine asked once more as he continued to follow Kurt further into the park.

Kurt was quiet for a moment, deep in thought, debating with himself on whether or not he should open up to Blaine about this little piece of information.

"My mom used to bring me here when I was younger. I loved this place more than anything because it felt like my own little place to escape," he finally replied.

"Your mom doesn't bring you here anymore?" That was something he had to get used to: Blaine asking questions. He was always curious, always wondering; the opposite of his sister who seemed to know all the answers.

"She couldn't even if she wanted to. She died when I was 8," Kurt said simply and Blaine grew quiet. He didn't say 'I'm sorry'; he didn't say anything at all, in fact and Kurt was somewhat grateful. Blaine simply smiled sadly at him in understanding as if there was an unspoken bond once Kurt revealed to having lost a loved one just like Blaine had.

Kurt continued to speak, to explain his reason for bringing Blaine here when it held no significance to him.

"I come here whenever I miss my mom too much because this place is where I remember her best. The last time I was here was my mom's birthday a few months ago. It's a beautiful place to keep beautiful memories. I know you and your sister didn't make any memories here but I figured you don't need a place that reminds you of her but more of a place where you can remember her."

"Thank you," Blaine whispered. Kurt almost didn't catch it but he did and nodded.

Kurt sat down in front of his favourite tree, leaning against the trunk of the tree where the name 'Elizabeth Marie Hummel' was clearly carved into the bark of the trunk.

"You can write your sister's name on any tree if you want. I like to think of the trees as memory trees," Kurt explained when he saw Blaine staring at the name engraved above Kurt's head. The boy nodded eagerly in agreement at the idea and sat down, leaning against the tree that stood opposite Kurt.

Kurt closed his eyes and Blaine followed suit, both boys sitting in silence with their legs extended in front of them and their heads leaning comfortably against the trunks.

"Tell me about her," Kurt spoke suddenly, breaking the silence.

Understanding immediately that Kurt was referring to his sister, he opened his mouth to speak and it was as if Kurt had set a bomb to a dam because he couldn't stop talking. He told Kurt all about his sister, his caring, passionate, kind, compassionate sister who he missed dearly. He told Kurt about the first memory he ever had of her when he was four. He told Kurt all the good and bad memories he had of her: the time she taught him how to swim, the time she locked him in the basement for three hours. He told Kurt about the important moments in their relationship, when he came out to her and she simply hugged him and said 'I finally have a gay bestie.' Blaine laughed as he recalled that memory. He then looked at Kurt who was listening intently to his stories, a small, barely noticeable smile gracing his lips. He didn't know Kurt well but it was easy talking to him, forgetting that they had been awkward with each other the first time they met again. He knew that Kurt hid a lot and that there was that unspoken, invisible barrier preventing him from seeing the true Kurt but he wouldn't give up. He had time and his sister always told him that if he met someone like her in the future, never leave them and never give up on them. Kurt reminded him a lot of his late sister.

"Do you think you could tell me about your mother?" Blaine, teary eyed from telling stories stared hopefully at Kurt, hoping that he would return the sentiment.

Kurt was reluctant to share anything about his mother because all it did was open up a bad wound but Blaine had already opened himself up for the world to see and Kurt had to give him at least something in return.

"My mom was the most beautiful person you would ever meet. She had a kind heart and a warm soul. She had the voice of an angel and was so talented. Maybe I'm biased because she was my mother but my dad would tell you the same thing. She loved like no other and she fought like her life depended on it. She protected her own but respected everyone's opinion. She was the best. I miss her."Kurt cleared his throat and Blaine could just see the walls building themselves back up into place and after what he had just heard, Blaine couldn't be more sure of the fact that he couldn't give up on Kurt Hummel no matter how long it took to get him to open up and trust Blaine because Kurt was worth it.

They sat there for a while longer, enjoying the breeze and scenery of the place and Blaine promised himself that with or without Kurt, he would come back to Cedar Park if just to remember his sister. Like he promised, Kurt helped to carve Elsa's name onto the trunk of the tree that Blaine was leaning against earlier and Blaine couldn't help but notice something change in Kurt demeanour as he stared at the name on the tree as if in recognition but as soon as Blaine tried to figure out the look, it was gone and the guarded Kurt was back.

Blaine started to walk back to Kurt's car but stopped in his tracks when he realized that Kurt wasn't following behind him. Concerned, he turned back around only to be waved off by said boy himself.

"You go on ahead, I'll catch up."

Thinking that Kurt needed some time to remember his own mother, Blaine let it go and followed Kurt's instructions to walk back to the car, glancing one last time at Kurt before he walked back slowly (it wasn't as if he could go anywhere, Kurt was his ride).

Kurt stared at the name Blaine had carved earlier: 'Elsa Anna Anderson' and sighed deeply.

"Looks like I finally found you again. I've missed you. I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I'm sorry I couldn't listen to you when you told me I deserved better. I'm sorry I hurt myself. I'm sorry I never told anyone what he did to me, what he's doing to me. But I promise I won't hurt your little brother. He's special."

Kurt then turned to his mother's tree and spoke, "Take care of her will you, mommy? She was hurt just like me so she needs you. I'll see you next time. Bye."

With that, Kurt walked off in the direction of his care, walking faster to catch up to Blaine and drive him back to Westerville.

Xxx

Kurt was 13 when he lost Elsa.

Kurt was 17 when he found her again.


End file.
